UNDER A CHARM.

                                
UNDER A CHARM.

                                A Novel.



                        FROM THE GERMAN OF E. WERNER,
                            By CHRISTINA TYRRELL.



                          _IN THREE VOLUMES_.
                                VOL. I.




                                LONDON:
                        RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON,
                         NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
                                 1877.

                        (_All rights reserved_.)





                            PART THE FIRST.





                             UNDER A CHARM.




                               CHAPTER I.


The hot summer day was drawing to its close. The sun had already set;
but the rosy flush of evening still lingered on the horizon, casting a
radiant glow over the sea, which lay calm, scarce moved by a ripple,
reflecting the last splendour of the departing day.

Close to the shore on the outskirts of C----, the fashionable
watering-place, but at some little distance from the promenade, which
at this hour was thronged by a brilliant, many-coloured crowd of
visitors, stood a plain country house. Unpretending in appearance,
compared with the other, for the most part, far larger and grander
houses and villas of the place, it was remarkable for nothing save only
for the beauty of its situation, its windows commanding a limitless
view over the sea. Otherwise it stood there secluded, almost solitary,
and could certainly only be preferred by such guests as wished rather
to avoid, than to court, the noisy, busy life of C---- during the
bathing season.

At the open glass-door, which led out on to the balcony, stood a lady
dressed in deep mourning. She was tall and imposing of stature, and
might still pass for beautiful, although she had more than reached
life's meridian. That face, with its clear regular lines, had, it is
true, never possessed the charms of grace and loveliness; but, for that
very reason, years had taken nothing from the cold severe beauty it
still triumphantly retained. The black attire, the crape veil shading
her brow, seemed to point to some heavy, and probably recent, loss; but
one looked in vain for the trace of past tears in those eyes, for a
touch of softness in those features so indicative of energy. If sorrow
had really drawn nigh this woman, she had either not felt it very
deeply, or had already overcome its pangs.

At her side stood a gentleman, like herself, of distinguished and noble
carriage. He might, in reality, be only a few years older than his fair
neighbour; but he looked as though more than a decade lay between them,
for time had not passed by him with so light a hand. His grave face,
very full of character, with its sharp, deeply marked features, had
plainly weathered many a storm in life's journey; his thick dark hair
was here and there streaked with grey; line upon line furrowed his
brow, and there was a sombre melancholy in his eyes which communicated
itself to the man's whole countenance.

"Still nothing to be seen! They will hardly return before sunset."

"You should have sent us word of your arrival," said the lady. "We only
expected you in a few days. Besides, the boat does not come in sight
until it has rounded that wooded promontory yonder, and then in a very
few minutes it is here."

She stepped back into the room, and turned to a servant who was in the
act of carrying some travelling wraps into one of the adjoining rooms.

"Go down to the shore, Pawlick," said she, "and directly the boat comes
to land, tell my son and my niece that Count Morynski has arrived."

The servant withdrew in compliance with the order received. Count
Morynski left his post on the balcony, and came into the room, seating
himself by the lady's side.

"Forgive my impatience," he said. "The meeting with my sister ought to
suffice me for the present; but it is a whole year since I last saw my
child."

The lady smiled. "You will not see much more of the 'child.' A year
makes a great change at her age, and Wanda gives promise of beauty."

"And her mental development? In your letters you have ever expressed
yourself satisfied on that head."

"Certainly; she always outstrips her tasks. I have rather to restrain
than to stimulate her ardour. In that respect I have nothing to wish
for; but there is one point on which much is to be desired. Wanda has a
strong, a most decided will of her own, and she is disposed to assert
it passionately. I have sometimes been obliged to enforce the obedience
she was greatly inclined to refuse me."

A fleeting smile brightened the father's face, as he replied, "A
singular reproach from your lips! To have a will and to assert it under
all circumstances is a prominent trait of your character--a family
trait with us, indeed, I may say."

"Which, however, is not to be tolerated in a girl of sixteen, for there
it only shows itself as defiance and caprice," his sister interrupted
him. "I tell you beforehand, you yourself will have frequent occasion
to combat it."

It seemed as though the turn taken by the conversation were not
specially agreeable to the Count.

"I know that I could not give my child into better hands than yours,"
he said, evading the subject; "and for that reason I am doubly glad
that, though I am about to claim Wanda for myself, she will not have to
do without you altogether. I did not think you would make up your mind
to return so soon after your husband's death. I expected you would stay
in Paris, at all events until Leo had completed his studies."

The lady shook her head. "I never felt at home in Paris, in spite of
the years we spent there. The emigrant's fate is no enviable one--you
know it by experience. Prince Baratowski, indeed, could not again set
foot in his own country; but no one can prevent his widow and son from
returning, so I resolved to come without delay. Leo must be allowed to
breathe his native air once more, so that he may feel himself truly a
son of the soil. On him now rest all the hopes of our race. He is still
very young, no doubt; but he must learn to outrun his years, and to
make himself acquainted with those duties and tasks which have now
devolved on him through his father's death."

"And where do you think of taking up your abode?" asked Count Morynski.
"You know that my house is at all times ..."

"I know it," the Princess interrupted him; "but no, thanks. For me the
all-important point now is to assure Leo's future, and to give him the
means of maintaining his name and position before the world. This has
been hard enough for us of late, and now it has become a perfect
impossibility. You know our circumstances, and are aware what
sacrifices our banishment has imposed on us. Something must be done.
For my son's sake I have decided upon a step which, for myself alone, I
never would have taken. Do you guess why I chose C---- for our place of
sojourn this summer?"

"No; but I was surprised at it. Witold's estate lies within five or six
miles of this, and I thought you would rather have avoided the
neighbourhood. But perhaps you are in communication with Waldemar
again?"

"No," said the Princess, coldly. "I have not seen him since we left for
France, and since then have hardly had a line from him. During all
these years he has had no thought for his mother."

"Nor his mother for him," observed the Count, parenthetically.

"Was I to expose myself to a rebuff, to a humiliation?" asked the
Princess with some warmth. "This Witold has always been hostile to me;
he has exercised his unlimited authority as guardian in the most
offensive manner, setting me completely at nought. I am powerless as
opposed to him."

"He would hardly have ventured to cut off all intercourse between you
and Waldemar. A mother's rights are too sacred to be thus put aside,
had you but insisted on them with your usual resolution. That, however,
was never the case, to my knowledge, for--be candid, Hedwiga--you never
had any love for your eldest son."

Hedwiga made no reply to this reproach. She rested her head on her hand
in silence.

"I can understand that he does not take the first place in your heart,"
went on the Count. "He is the son of a husband whom you did not love,
who was forced upon you--the living reminder of a marriage you cannot
yet think of without bitterness. Leo is the child of your heart, of
your affections ..."

"His father never gave me cause for a word of complaint," the Princess
added, emphatically.

The Count shrugged his shoulders slightly. "You ruled Baratowski
completely; but that is not the question now. You have a plan; do you
intend to renew former, half-forgotten relations with Witold and his
ward?"

"I intend, at last, to assert those rights of which I was robbed by
Nordeck's will--that unjust will, every line of which was dictated by
hatred of me, which deprived alike the widow and the mother of her due.
Hitherto it has remained in full force; but its provisions fixed
Waldemar's majority at the age of one and twenty. He attained that age
on his last birthday, and he is now his own master. I wish to see
whether he will suffer things to go so far that his mother must seek an
asylum with her relations, while he reckons among the richest
landowners of the country, and it would cost him but a word to assure
me and his brother a suitable position and means of existence on one of
the estates."

Morynski shook his head doubtfully.

"You count upon finding natural filial affection in this son of yours.
I am afraid you are deceiving yourself. He has been severed from you
since his earliest childhood, and love for his mother will hardly have
been inculcated on him as a duty. I never saw him but as a child, when,
I own, he made the most unfavourable impression upon me. One thing I
know for certain, he was the reverse of tractable."

"I know it too," returned the Princess with equanimity. "He is his
father's son, and, like him, rough, unmanageable, and incapable of all
higher culture. Even as a boy he resembled him, trait for trait; and,
with such a guardian as Witold, education will have given the finishing
touches to Nature's work. I do not deceive myself as to Waldemar's
character; but, nevertheless, there will be a way of leading him. Minds
of an inferior order always yield in the end to intellectual
superiority. Everything depends upon making it properly felt."

"Were you able to lead his father?" asked her brother, gravely.

"You forget, Bronislaus, that I was then but a girl of seventeen,
without experience, altogether unversed in the ways of the world. I
should now be able to compass even such a character as his, and should
certainly gain an ascendancy over him. Besides this, with Waldemar, I
shall have on my side the weight of my authority as his mother. He will
bend to it."

The Count looked very incredulous at these words, spoken in a tone of
great decision. He had no time to reply, for a light, rapid step was
now heard in the anteroom. The door was flung open with impetuous
haste, and a young girl, rushing in, threw herself into the arms of
Morynski, who sprang up and clasped his daughter to his breast with
passionate tenderness.

The Princess had risen also. She did not seem quite to approve of so
stormy a greeting on the part of the young lady; she said nothing,
however, but turned to her son, who came in at that moment.

"You stayed out a long time, Leo. We have been expecting you for the
last hour."

"Forgive us, mamma. The sunset on the sea was so beautiful, we could
not bear to lose a minute of it."

With these words, Leo Baratowski went up to his mother. He was, indeed,
very young, perhaps seventeen or eighteen years of age. One look in his
face was sufficient to show that his features were modelled on those of
the Princess. The resemblance was striking, as it only can be between
mother and son; and yet the latter's fine youthful head, with its dark,
curly hair, bore quite another stamp from hers. The cold, severe
expression was wanting. Here all was fire and life; all the passion of
a glowing, and as yet unbridled, temperament blazed in the dark eyes,
and his whole appearance was such an impersonation of adolescent
strength and beauty, it was not difficult to understand the pride with
which the Princess took her son's hand to lead him to his uncle.

"Leo has no father now," she said, gravely. "I shall look to you for
help, Bronislaus, when the counsel and guidance of a man become
necessary to him in his career."

The Count embraced his nephew with heartfelt warmth, but in a far
quieter fashion than that in which he had received his daughter. The
sight of her seemed for the present to drive all else into the
background. His looks continually wandered back to the young girl, who,
in this last year during which he had been separated from her, had
almost grown to maiden's estate.

Wanda was not in the least like her father. If the likeness between Leo
and his mother were striking in the extreme, here, between father and
daughter, such resemblance was altogether wanting. The young Countess
Morynska was, indeed, like no one but herself. Her slender, graceful
figure was as yet unformed, and she had evidently not attained to her
full height. The face, too, was childlike, though her features already
justified the Princess's claim on their behalf. A rather pale face it
was, the cheeks being tinged only by faintest pink; but there was
nothing sickly in this paleness, and it in no way diminished the
impression of fresh and healthful vigour. Her luxuriant, raven-black
hair set the whiteness of her complexion in still stronger relief, and
dark dewy eyes were hid beneath the long black lashes. Wanda did indeed
give promise of beauty. As yet she had it not; but, on the other hand,
she possessed that peculiar charm which belongs to many a girlish
figure, standing on the boundary line between child and maiden hood.
There was about her a pretty blending of the child's petulance and
artlessness with the graver demeanour of the young lady, who, at every
turn, calls to mind her sixteen years; while the bloom of early youth,
of the blossom budding forth, invested her whole person with a special
grace of its own, and made her doubly charming.

When the first emotion of the meeting was over, the conversation flowed
in calmer channels. Count Morynski had drawn his daughter down on to a
seat near him, and was jestingly reproaching her for her late return.

"I knew nothing of your arrival, papa," Wanda said in self-defence;
"and, besides, I had an adventure in the forest."

"In the forest?" interrupted her aunt. "Were you not on the water, with
Leo?"

"Only coming back, aunt. We intended to sail back to the Beech Holm, as
had been agreed; but Leo declared, and persisted in it, that the way by
sea was far nearer than by the footpath through the wood. I maintained
the contrary. We argued about it for some time, and at last decided
upon each proving we were right. Leo sailed alone, and I set off
through the forest."

"And reached the Beech Holm quite safely a good half-hour after me,"
said Leo, triumphantly.

"I had lost my way," asserted the young lady, warmly; "and I should
very likely be in the forest still if I had not been put right."

"And who put you right?" asked the Count.

Wanda laughed mischievously. "A wood-demon, one of the old giants who
are said to wander about here at times. But don't ask me any more now,
papa. Leo is burning with curiosity to know all about it. He has been
teasing me with questions the whole way back, and therefore he shall
not hear a syllable."

"It is all an invention," cried Leo, laughing, "a pretext to explain
your late arrival. You would rather make up a long story than
acknowledge I was right for once."

Wanda was about to retort in the same tone, when the Princess
interfered.

"Pretext or not," said she, sharply, "this solitary walk, taken without
consulting any one, was to the last degree improper. I had given you
permission to go for a short sail in Leo's company, and I cannot
understand how he could leave you in the woods for hours, by yourself."

"But Wanda would go," said Leo, by way of excuse. "She wanted to have
our dispute about the distance settled."

"Yes, dear aunt, I _would_ go" (the young lady laid greater stress on
the word than she would have ventured to do, had her father not been
protectingly at hand), "and Leo knew very well it was useless to try
and hold me back."

Here was a fresh instance of the girl's wilfulness, requiring to be
severely dealt with.

The Princess was about to deliver a serious reprimand, when her brother
quickly interposed.

"You will allow me to take Wanda with me?" said he. "I feel rather
tired from the journey, and should like to go to my room. Good-bye for
the present." With this he rose, took his daughter's arm, and left the
room with her.

"My uncle seems in raptures at the sight of Wanda," remarked Leo, as
the two disappeared.

The Princess looked after them in silence. "He will overlook it," she
said at last, under her breath; "he will worship her with blind
adoration, such as he lavished formerly on her mother, and Wanda will
soon know her power and learn to use it. This was what I feared from a
return to her father. The very first hour shows that I was right. What
is this story about an adventure in the forest, Leo?"

Leo shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. Probably one of Wanda's
teasing jokes. She made me curious at first with all sorts of hints,
and then obstinately refused to tell me more, taking great delight in
my vexation. You know her way."

"Yes, I know her way." There was a slight frown on the Princess's brow.
"Wanda likes to play with every one and everything, to let all who come
near her feel her arbitrary humour. You should not make it so easy to
her, Leo, at least so far as you yourself are concerned."

The young Prince crimsoned to the temples. "I, mamma? Why, I am always
quarrelling with Wanda!"

"And always submitting in the end to be led by her caprices. Do not
tell me, my son--I know who invariably triumphs when a contest arises
between you two; but, for the present, this is all childishness. I
wanted to speak to you of something serious. Shut the balcony door, and
come here to me."

Leo obeyed. His face showed that he was offended, less, perhaps, by the
reproof administered to him, than by the expression 'childishness.'

The Princess, however, took not the slightest notice of his mood.

"You know," she began, "that I had been married before I bestowed my
hand on your father, and that a son of that first marriage still lives.
You know, too, that he has been reared and educated in Germany; but up
to this time you have never seen him. A meeting between you will now
take place. You are to make his acquaintance."

Leo sprang up, his eyes sparkling with eagerness and liveliest
surprise.

"My brother Waldemar?"

"Waldemar Nordeck, yes." The emphasis laid on the latter name conveyed
a perhaps unintentional, but most decided, protest against this
relationship between a Nordeck and a Baratowski. "He lives in this
neighbourhood on his guardian's estate. I have sent him word of our
presence here, and I expect he will come over one of these days."

Leo's previous ill-humour had vanished. The subject was evidently one
of the greatest interest to him. "Mamma," said he, hesitatingly, "may I
not hear something more of these sad family affairs? All I know is that
your marriage was an unhappy one, that you are at variance with
Waldemar's relations, and with his guardian. Even this I have only
learned from my uncle's allusions, and from hints dropped by old
servants of our house. I have never ventured to ask a question, either
of you or of my father. I saw that it would hurt him, and make you
angry. You both seemed anxious to banish the remembrance from your
mind."

A singularly hard expression came over the Princess's features, and the
tone of her voice was hard too, as she replied, "Certainly, old
mortifications and humiliations are best hidden from view and
forgotten, and that unhappy union was fertile in both. Do not ask me
about it now, Leo. You know the events that happened. Let that suffice
you. I neither can nor will take you, step by step, through a family
drama, of which I cannot think even now without a feeling of hatred for
the dead rising up within me. I thought to efface those three years
altogether from my life, and little dreamed that I should one day be
compelled myself to call up the memory of them."

"And what compels you?" asked Leo, quickly. "Not our return? We are
going to my uncle's, at Rakowicz, are we not?"

"No, my son, we are going to Wilicza."

"To Wilicza!" repeated Leo, in surprise. "Why, that is ... that is
Waldemar's place!"

"It would have been my dower-house, but for the will which ejected me,"
said the Princess, in a cutting tone; "now it is the property of my
son. Room will certainly be found there for his mother."

Leo started back with an impetuous gesture. "What does it mean?" he
asked, hotly. "Are you going to lower yourself before this Waldemar, to
ask a favour of him? I know that we are poor; but I would bear
anything, do without anything, rather than consent that, for my sake,
you ..."

The Princess rose suddenly. Her look and attitude were so commanding
that the boy stopped short in the midst of his passionate protest.

"Do you suppose that your mother is capable of lowering herself? Have
you so little knowledge of her? Leave to me the care of upholding my
dignity--and yours. It really is not needful that you should point out
to me the limits to which I may go. It is for me alone to judge of
them."

Leo was silent, and looked down. His mother went up to him, and took
his hand.

"Will this hot head of yours never learn to reason quietly?" said she,
more gently. "Yet calm reflection will be so necessary to it in life?
My plans with regard to Waldemar I shall carry out myself, alone. If
there be bitterness attaching to them, you, my Leo, shall feel nothing
of it. You must keep your sight unclouded, your spirit fresh and
valiant for the future which is in store for you. That is your task.
Mine is to assure you that future at any cost. Trust your mother."

With a dumb prayer for forgiveness, her son raised her hand to his
lips. She drew him to her; and, as she bent down to kiss the handsome,
animated face, it became manifest that this cold, austere woman had a
mother's heart, and that, in spite of the severity with which she
treated him, Leo was that heart's idol.




                              CHAPTER II.


"Do oblige me by leaving off those everlasting lamentations of yours,
Doctor. I tell you, there is no changing the boy. I have tried often
enough, and I have had six tutors, one after the other, to help me. We
could none of us do anything with him; you can't do anything either, so
just let him go his own way."

This speech, delivered in the most vigorous tones, was addressed by
Herr Witold, Squire of Altenhof, to the gentleman intrusted with his
ward's education. The room in which the two were seated was situated at
the end of the house of which it formed a corner. Its windows were
thrown open on account of the heat, and its whole appearance seemed to
indicate that the dwellers therein held such things as elegance and
comfort to be quite superfluous, if not absolutely harmful,
indulgences. The plain and, for the most part, antiquated furniture was
scattered here and there, without the least regard for tasteful, or
even for commodious, arrangement--pushed right and left to serve the
convenience of the moment. On the walls hung guns, sporting tackle, and
antlers in indiscriminate confusion. Wherever room for a nail had been
found, there that nail had been driven in, and the article on hand at
the time hung thereon, without the smallest consideration for the
figure it made in the place allotted to it. The bureau was loaded with
piles of house and farm accounts, together with tobacco pipes, spurs,
and half a dozen riding-whips. The newspaper lay on the carpet; for
carpet there was, in name at least, though its absence would have
proved a better ornament to the room, since it bore but too evident
traces of serving the great setter as his daily couch. Not a thing was
in the place to which it rightly belonged; but rather there where it
had last been made use of, and where it remained ready for any future
occasion. One single object in the room testified, and that in a truly
appalling manner, to the owner's artistic tastes, namely, a brilliant
hunting-piece of most intense and vivid colouring, which hung in the
place of honour over the sofa.

The Squire sat in his armchair by the window, lost in the dense clouds
of smoke which issued from his meerschaum. A man of about sixty years,
he looked relatively young, in spite of his white hair, and was
evidently in the full enjoyment of health and strength. He was of an
important presence, his height and bulk being alike considerable. There
was, perhaps, not overmuch intelligence in the ruddy face; but, on the
other hand, it wore an unmistakable air of good humour. His dress, made
up partly of indoor raiment and partly of hunting gear, was decidedly
negligent; and his whole massive person, with its powerful, deep-toned
voice, formed the strongest contrast to the lank figure of the tutor,
now standing before him.

The Doctor might be thirty or thereabouts. He was of middle height, but
his stooping attitude made him appear short of stature. His face was
not exactly unhandsome, but it wore too evident a look of sickliness,
and of the depression bred of a painful position in life, to prove
attractive. His complexion was pale and unhealthy, his brow deeply
lined, and his eyes had that abstracted, uncertain expression peculiar
to those who seldom, if ever, bring their thoughts altogether to bear
on the realities around them. His black attire was ordered with
scrupulous care; and there was an air of anxious timidity about the
man's whole being, betraying itself in his voice, as he replied in a
low tone--

"You know, Herr Witold, that I never apply to you, save in an extreme
case. This time I must call upon you to use your authority. I am at my
wits' end."

"What has Waldemar been doing now?" asked the master of the house,
impatiently. "I know he is unmanageable as well as you do, but I can't
help you in the matter. The boy got far beyond my control long ago. He
will obey no one now, not even me. He runs away from your books, and
prefers to be off with his gun, does he? Tut! I was no better at his
age. They could never ram all their learned stuff into my head. He has
no manners, has not he? Well, he does not want them. We live here among
ourselves, and when we do have a neighbourly meeting now and again, we
don't make much ceremony about it. You know that well enough, Doctor.
You always take to your heels, and escape from our shooting parties and
drinking bouts."

"But, only think," objected the tutor, "if Waldemar with his rough wild
ways were, later in life, to be thrown into another sphere; if he were
to marry ..."

"Marry!" exclaimed Witold, absolutely hurt by such a supposition. "He
will never do such a thing. What should he marry for? I have remained a
bachelor all my life, and find myself uncommonly comfortable; and poor
Nordeck would have done better to keep single. No, thank God, there is
no fear of our Waldemar! Why, he runs off at the sight of a petticoat,
and he is right."

So saying, Waldemar's guardian leaned back in his chair with an air of
much contentment. The Doctor drew a step nearer.

"But to return to the point from which we set out," said he,
hesitatingly. "You yourself admit that my pupil will no longer be
guided by me. It must therefore be high time to send him to the
University."

Herr Witold sprang up from his seat so suddenly that the tutor beat a
hasty retreat.

"Did not I think something of the sort was coming! I have, heard
nothing else from you for the last month. What should Waldemar go to
the University for? To have his head stuffed with learning by the
professors? I should think you have taken good care to do that for him
by this time. All that an honest country gentleman needs to know, he
knows. He is as great an authority about the land and the farm business
as my inspector. He keeps the people in their place far more
effectually than I can, and there is not a better man in the saddle or
in the field. He is a splendid young fellow!"

The tutor did not appear to share this enthusiastic view of his pupil's
merits. He hardly ventured to express so much in words, but summoned up
all his evidently slender stock of courage for the timid reply.

"But, sir, the heir of Wilicza requires, after all, something more than
the qualifications which go to make a good inspector or land-steward.
Some higher culture, some academical study, appear to me extremely
desirable."

"They don't appear desirable to me at all," retorted Herr Witold.
"Isn't it enough that, by-and-by, I shall have to let the boy, who is
the very apple of my eye, go from me, just because his property lies in
that cursed land of Polacks? Must I part from him now to send him to
the University against his will? I'll do nothing of the sort, I tell
you, nothing of the sort. He shall stay here until he goes to Wilicza."

With this, he puffed so savagely at his pipe that for several minutes
his face disappeared behind the clouds of smoke. The tutor sighed, and
was silent. His quiet resignation touched the tyrannical Squire.

"Don't trouble your mind any more about the University, Doctor," said
he, in quite a changed tone; "you will never persuade Waldemar to
consent to the plan as long as you live. And for yourself, too, it is
better that you should stay at Altenhof. Here you are just in the midst
of your tumuli and your Runic stones, or whatever you call the rubbish
you are after all day long. I can't understand, for my own part, what
you can see so remarkable in the old heathen lumber; but the heart of
man must take delight in something, and I am right glad you can find
any pleasure to satisfy you, for you have often a hard time of it with
Waldemar--and with me into the bargain."

The Doctor, much confused, made a deprecatory gesture. "Oh, Herr
Witold!"

"Don't put yourself out," said the other, good-naturedly. "I know that
in your secret soul you look upon our life here as a godless business,
and that you would have run away from us long ago, if it had not been
for the heathen rubbish you have grown so fond of, and which you can't
bring yourself to part from. Well, I am not such a bad fellow after
all, you know, though I do fly out in a passion occasionally; and as
you are always pottering about among the pagans, you must be just in
your element here with us. I have heard say that people in those days
had no manners at all. They used to fight and murder each other out of
pure friendship."

The historical information displayed by Herr Witold appeared to the
Doctor to have a dangerous tendency. Possibly he feared some practical
illustration of it on his own person, for he backed by almost
imperceptible degrees behind the sofa.

"Excuse me, the old Teutons ..."

"Were not cut out after your pattern, Doctor," cried the Squire with a
shout of laughter, for the man[oe]uvre had not escaped him. "I know
that much, at all events. I think, of us all, Waldemar comes the
nearest to them, so I can't make out what fault you can find with him."

"But, Herr Witold, in the nineteenth century ..." The Doctor got no
further in his dissertation, for at that moment the crack of a shot was
heard--of a shot fired close to the open window. A bullet whistled
through the room, and the great stag's antlers, which hung over the
bureau, fell down with a crash.

The Squire jumped up from his seat. "Waldemar! What does this mean? Is
the boy taking to shoot into the very rooms? Wait a moment; I'll put a
stop to that work!"

He would have hurried out, but was stopped at the entrance by a young
man, who pushed, or rather flung, open the door, letting it fall to on
its hinges again with a bang. He wore a shooting suit, and carried in
his hand the gun which had caused the late report, while at his side
stalked a great pointer. Without any sort of greeting, or of excuse for
this violent mode of making his appearance, he went up to Witold,
placed himself right before him, and asked triumphantly--

"Now, which of us was right, you or I?"

The Squire was really angry. "Is that the way to behave, shooting over
people's heads?" he cried, testily. "One is not sure of one's life with
you now. Do you want to put the Doctor and me out of the world?"

Waldemar shrugged his shoulders. "Where was the harm? I wanted to win
my wager. You declared yesterday I should not hit that nail, where the
twelve-year-old hung, from outside. There's my ball, up there."

He pointed to the wall. Witold followed the direction.

"It really is!" said he, full of admiration, and altogether appeased.
"Doctor, just look--but what is the matter with you?"

"Doctor Fabian has got another of his nervous attacks, no doubt," said
Waldemar ironically, laying aside his gun, but making no attempt to
succour his teacher, who had sunk back on the sofa, half fainting with
the fright, and was still trembling from head to foot. The good-natured
Witold raised him up, and encouraged him to the best of his ability.

"Come, come, who would think of fainting because a little powder went
off! Why, it is not worth speaking of. We had laid the wager, that is
quite true; but how was I to know the young madcap would set to work in
such a senseless fashion? Instead of calling us out, that we might look
on quietly, he makes no more ado, but takes his aim straight over our
heads. Are you better now? Ah, that's right, thank God!"

Doctor Fabian had risen, and was striving to master his emotion; but as
yet he could not quite succeed.

"You might have shot us, Waldemar," said he, with pale and trembling
lips.

"No, Doctor, I might not," answered Waldemar, in a tone the reverse of
reverential. "You and my uncle were standing to the right, and I aimed
over there to the left, at least five paces off. You know I never
miss."

"No matter, you will let it alone in future," declared Witold, with an
attempt at asserting his authority as guardian. "The deuce himself may
be playing tricks with the balls, and then there will be an accident.
Once for all, I forbid you to shoot anywhere near the house."

The young man crossed his arms defiantly. "You can forbid me, uncle, as
much as you like, but I shan't obey. I shall shoot if I choose."

He stood confronting his guardian, the very incarnation of rebellious
wilfulness. Waldemar Nordeck's whole appearance was of the true
Germanic type; no single feature of his bore evidence to the fact that
his mother had come of another race. His tall, almost gigantic, figure
towered several inches above even Witold's portly form; but his frame
lacked symmetry, every line in it was sharp and angular. His light hair
seemed in its overabundance to be quite a troublesome load on his head,
for it fell low down over his brow, whence it was tossed back every now
and then with an impatient gesture. His blue eyes had a sombre and, in
moments of excitement like the present, almost a fierce expression. His
face was decidedly plain. Here, too, the lines were sharp and unformed;
all the boy's softer contours had vanished, and were not as yet
replaced by the set features of the man. In the case of this young man,
the transition stage was so marked as to be almost repulsive; and the
uncouthness of his manners, his complete disdain of all polite forms,
did not tend to diminish the unfavourable impression created by his
appearance.

Herr Witold was evidently one of those men whose person and bearing
seem to argue an energy of which, in reality, they possess not a
particle. Instead of meeting his ward's defiant rudeness with steady
resolution, the guardian thought proper to give way.

"I told you so, Doctor; the boy won't mind me any longer," said he,
with an equanimity which showed that this was the usual outcome of such
differences, and that, whenever it should please the young gentleman to
be in earnest, the uncle would be found powerless as the tutor.

Waldemar took no further notice of either of them. He threw himself at
full length on the sofa, without the least regard to the fact that his
boots, completely soaked by a journey through the marshes, were coming
in contact with the cushions; while the pointer, who had also been in
the water, followed his master's example, and, with equal recklessness,
settled himself down comfortably on the carpet.

A rather awkward pause ensued. The Squire, grumbling to himself, tried
to light his pipe, which had gone out in the interval. Dr. Fabian had
taken refuge by the window, and, gazing out, cast a look towards heaven
which said more plainly than any words that, truly, he did consider the
way of life here to be 'a godless sort of business.'

The Squire had meanwhile been hunting for his tobacco pouch, which
was at last happily discovered on the bureau, under the spurs and
riding-whips. As he drew it out, an unopened envelope fell close by his
hand. He took it up.

"I had nearly forgotten that. Waldemar, there is a letter for you."

"For me?" asked Waldemar, indifferently, and yet with that touch of
surprise called up by an event of rare occurrence.

"Yes. There's a coronet on the seal, and a coat of arms with all sorts
of heraldic beasts. From the Princess Baratowska, I presume. It is a
long time since we have been honoured with her Highness's gracious
autograph."

Young Nordeck broke open the letter, and glanced through it. It seemed
to contain but a few lines; nevertheless, a heavy cloud gathered on the
reader's brow.

"Well, what is it?" asked Witold. "Are the conspirators still hatching
their plots in Paris? I did not look at the postmark."

"The Princess and her son are out yonder at C----," reported Waldemar.
He seemed purposely to avoid the names of mother and brother. "She
wishes to see me. I shall ride over to-morrow morning."

"You will do nothing of the kind," said the Squire. "Your princely
relatives have not troubled themselves about you for years, and they
need not begin now. We want nothing of them. Stay where you are."

"Uncle, I have had enough of being ordered about and forbidden to do
this and that!" Waldemar broke out, with such sudden vehemence that the
Squire stared at him open-mouthed. "Am I a schoolboy that I need ask
your leave at every step? Have not I the right, at one and twenty,
to decide whether I will see my mother or not? I _have_ decided, and
to-morrow morning I shall ride over to C----."

"Well, don't put yourself in a passion, and be so bearish," said
Witold, more astonished than angry at this outburst of fury, which was
quite inexplicable to him. "Go where you like, so far as I am
concerned; but I'll have nothing to do with the Polish lot--that I tell
you."

Waldemar wrapped himself in sullen silence. He took his gun, whistled
to his dog, and left the room. His guardian looked after him, and shook
his head. All at once a thought seemed to strike him. He took up the
letter, which Waldemar had carelessly left lying on the table, and read
it through. Now it was Herr Witold's turn to knit his brow and frown
more and more ominously, until at last the storm broke.

"I thought so!" he cried, thumping with his fist on the table. "It is
just like my fine madam. In six lines she stirs the boy up to rebel
against me. That is the reason he turned so cantankerous all in a
minute. Listen to this delightful letter, Doctor: 'My son,--Years have
passed, during which you have given no sign of life.'--As if she had
given us any!--'I only know through strangers that you are living at
Altenhof with your guardian. I am staying at C---- just now, and
should rejoice to see you here, and to have an opportunity of
introducing your brother to you. I know not, indeed,'--listen, Doctor,
this is where she pricks him,--'I know not, indeed, whether you will be
free to pay me this visit. I hear that, notwithstanding you have
attained your majority, you are still quite subject to your guardian's
will.'--Doctor, you are witness of how the boy tramples on us both day
after day!--'Of your readiness to come I make no doubt; but I do not
feel so sure that Herr Witold will grant his permission. I have
therefore preferred to address myself directly to you, that I may see
whether you possess sufficient strength of character to comply with
this, the first wish your mother has ever expressed to you, or whether
you _dare_ not accede even to this request of hers.'--The '_dare_' is
underlined. --'If I am right in the former supposition, I shall expect
to see you shortly. Your brother joins me in love.--Your mother.'"

Herr Witold was so exasperated that he dashed the letter to the ground.
"There's a thing for a man to read! Cleverly managed of the lady
mother, that! She knows as well as I do what a pig-headed fellow
Waldemar is, and if she had studied him for years she could not have
hit on his weak side better. The mere thought of restraint being placed
on him makes him mad. I may move heaven and earth now to keep him; he
will go just to show me he can have his own way. What do you say to the
business?"

Doctor Fabian seemed sufficiently initiated in the family affairs to
look upon the approaching meeting with alarm equal to the Squire's,
though proceeding from a far different cause.

"Dear me! dear me!" he said, anxiously. "If Waldemar goes over to
C---- and behaves in his usual rough, unmannerly fashion, if the
Princess sees him so, what will she think of him?"

"Think he has taken after his father, and not after her," was the
Squire's emphatic reply. "That is just how she ought to see Waldemar;
then it will be made evident to her that he will be no docile
instrument to serve her intrigues--for that there are intrigues on foot
again, I'd wager my head. Either the princely purse is empty--I fancy
it never was too full--or there is some neat little State conspiracy
concocting again, and Wilicza lies handy for it, being so close to the
frontier."

"But, Herr Witold," remonstrated the Doctor, "why try to widen the
unhappy breach in the family, now that the mother gives proof of a
conciliatory spirit? Would it not be better to make peace at last?"

"You don't understand, Doctor," said Witold, with a bitterness quite
unusual to him. "There is no peace to be made with that woman, unless
one surrenders one's own will, and consents to be ruled entirely by
her; it was because poor Nordeck would not do so that she led him the
life of hell at home. Now, I won't exonerate him altogether. He had
some nasty faults, and could make things hard for a woman; but all the
troubles came of his taking this Morynska for a wife. Another girl
might have led him, might perhaps have changed some things in him; but,
for such a task, a little heart would have been needed, and of that
article Madam Hedwiga never had much to show. Well, the 'degradation,'
as they call it, of her first marriage has been made good by the
second. It was only a pity that the Princess Baratowska, with her son
and spouse, could not take up her residence at Wilicza. She could never
get over that; but luckily the will drew the bolt there, and we have
taken care to bring up Waldemar in such a way that he is not likely to
undo its work by any act of folly."

"We!" exclaimed the Doctor, much shocked. "Herr Witold, I have given my
lessons conscientiously, according to my instructions. I have
unfortunately never been able to influence my pupil's mind and
character, or ..." he hesitated.

"Or he would have been different from what he is," added Witold,
laughing. "The youngster suits me as he is, in spite of his wild ways.
If you like it better, _I_ have brought him up. If the result does not
fit in with the Baratowskis' plots and plans, I shall be right glad;
and if my education and their Parisian breeding get fairly by the ears
to-morrow, I shall be still better pleased. Then we shall be quits, at
least, for that spiteful letter yonder."

With these words the Squire left the room. The Doctor stooped to pick
up the letter, which still lay on the floor. He took it up, folded it
carefully together, and said, with a profound sigh--

"And one day people will say, 'It was a Dr. Fabian who brought up the
young heir.' Oh, just Heaven!"




                              CHAPTER III.


The domain of Wilicza, to which Waldemar Nordeck was heir, was situated
in one of the eastern provinces of the country, and consisted of a vast
agglomeration of estates, whereof the central point was the old castle
Wilicza, with the lands of the same name. To tell how the late Herr
Nordeck obtained possession of this domain, and subsequently won for
himself the hand of a Countess Morynska, would be to add a fresh
chapter to that tale, so oft repeated in our days, of the fall of
ancient families, once rich and influential, and the rise of a
middle-class element which, with the wealth, acquires the power that
was formerly claimed by the nobility as their exclusive privilege.

Count Morynski and his sister were early left orphans, and lived under
the guardianship of their relations. Hedwiga was educated in a convent;
on leaving it, she found that her hand was already disposed of. This
was assuredly nothing unusual in the noble circles to which she
belonged, and the young Countess would have acquiesced unconditionally,
had her destined husband been of equal birth with herself--had he been
one of her own people; but she had been chosen as the instrument to
work out the family plans, which, at all costs, must be carried into
execution.

Some few years ago, in the neighbourhood where lay the property of most
of the Morynski family, a certain Nordeck had arisen--a German, of low
birth, but who had attained to great wealth, and had settled in that
part of the country. The condition of the province at that time made it
easy for a foreign element to graft itself on the soil, whereas, under
ordinary circumstances, every hindrance would have been opposed to it.
The after-throes of the last rebellion, which, though it had actually
broken out beyond the frontier, had awakened a fellow-feeling
throughout the German provinces, made themselves everywhere felt. Half
the nobility had fled, or were impoverished by the sacrifices they had
been eager to make in the cause of their fatherland; it was, therefore,
not difficult for Nordeck to buy up the debt-laden estates at a tithe
of their value, and, by degrees, to obtain possession of a domain which
insured him a position among the first landed proprietors of the
country.

The intruder was, it is true, wanting in breeding, and of most
unprepossessing appearance; moreover, it soon became evident that he
had neither mind nor character to recommend him. Yet his immense
property gave him a weight in the land which was but too speedily
recognised, especially as, with determined hostility to all connected
with the Polish faction, his influence was invariably thrown into the
opposite scale. This may possibly have been his revenge for the fact
that the exclusively aristocratic and Slavonic neighbourhood held him
at a distance, and treated him with unconcealed, nay, very openly
manifested contempt. Whether imprudencies had been committed on the
side of the disaffected, or whether the cunning stranger had played the
spy on his own account, suffice it to say that he gained an insight
into certain party machinations. This made him a most formidable
adversary. To secure his goodwill became a necessity of the situation.

The man must be won over at any cost, and it had long been known that
such winning over was possible. As a millionaire, he was naturally
inaccessible to bribery; his vulnerable point, therefore, was his
vanity, which made him look on an alliance with one of the old noble
Polish families with a favourable eye. Perhaps the circumstance that,
half a century before, Wilicza had been in the possession of the
Morynskis directed the choice to the granddaughter of the last
proprietor; perhaps no other house was ready to offer up a daughter or
a sister, to exact from them the obedience now demanded of the poor
dependent orphan. It flattered the rough _parvenu_ to think that the
hand of a Countess Morynska was within his grasp. A dowry was no object
to him, so he entered into the plan with great zest; and thus, at her
first entrance into the world, Hedwiga found herself face to face with
a destiny against which her whole being revolted.

Her first step was decidedly to refuse compliance; but what availed the
'no' of a girl of seventeen when opposed to a family resolve dictated
by urgent necessity? Commands and threats proving of no effect,
recourse was had to persuasion. The young relation was shown the
brilliant _rôle_ she would have to play as mistress of Wilicza, the
unlimited ascendancy she would assuredly exercise over a man to whose
level she stooped so low. Much was said of the satisfaction a Morynska
would feel on once more obtaining control over property torn from her
ancestors; much, too, of the pressing need existing of converting the
dreaded adversary into a ductile tool for the furtherance of their own
plans. It was required of her that she should hold Wilicza, and the
enormous revenues at the disposal of its master, in the interests of
her party--and where compulsion had failed, argument succeeded. The
_rôle_ of a poor relation was by no means to the young Countess's
taste. She was glowing with ambition. The heart's needs and affections
were unknown to her; and when, at sight of her, Nordeck betrayed some
fleeting spark of passion, she too believed that her dominion over him
would be unbounded. So she yielded, and the marriage took place.

But the plans, the selfish calculations of both parties were alike to
be brought to nought. His neighbours had been mistaken in their
estimate of this man. Instead of bowing to his young wife's will, he
now showed himself as lord and master, impervious to all influence,
regardless of her superior rank; his passing fancy for his bride being
soon transformed into hatred when he discovered that she only desired
to make use of him and of his fortune to serve her own ends and those
of her family. The birth of a son made no change in their relations to
each other; if anything, the gulf between husband and wife seemed to be
only widened by it. Nordeck's character was not one to inspire a woman
with esteem; and this woman displayed the contempt she felt for him in
a way that would have stung any man to fury. Fearful scenes ensued;
after one of which the young mistress of Wilicza left the castle, and
fled to her brother for protection.

Little Waldemar, then barely a year old, was left with his father.
Nordeck, enraged at his wife's flight, imperiously demanded her return.
Bronislaus did what he could to protect his sister; and the quarrel
between him and his brother-in-law might have been productive of the
worst consequences, had not death unexpectedly stepped in and loosed
the bonds of this short-lived, but most unhappy, union. Nordeck, who
was a keen and reckless sportsman, met with an accident while out
hunting. His horse fell with its rider, and the latter sustained
injuries to which he shortly after succumbed; but on his deathbed he
had strength enough, both of mind and body, to dictate a will excluding
his wife from all share alike in his fortune and in the education of
his child. Her flight from his house gave him the right so to exclude
her, and he used it unsparingly. Waldemar was entrusted to the
guardianship of an old school friend and distant connection, and the
latter was endowed with unbounded authority. The widow tried, indeed,
to resist; but the new guardian proved his friendship to the dead man
by carrying out the provisions of the will with utter disregard to her
feelings, and rejected all her claims. Already owner of Altenhof,
Witold had no intention of remaining at Wilicza, or of leaving his ward
behind him there. He took the boy with him to his own home. Nordeck's
latest instructions had been to the effect that his son was to be
entirely removed from his mother's influence and family; and these
instructions were so strictly observed that, during the years of his
minority, the young heir only paid a few flying visits to his estates,
always in the company of his guardian. All his youth was spent at
Altenhof.

As for the enormous revenues of Wilicza, of which at present no use
could be made, they were suffered to accumulate, and went to swell the
capital; so that Waldemar Nordeck, on coming of age, found himself in
possession of wealth such as but few indeed could boast.

The future lord of Wilicza's mother lived on at first in the house of
her brother, who meanwhile had also married; but she did not long
remain there. One of the Count's most intimate friends, Prince
Baratowski, fell passionately in love with the young, clever, and
beautiful widow, who, so soon as the year of her mourning was out,
bestowed her hand upon him. This second marriage was in all respects a
happy one. People said, indeed, that the Prince, though a gallant
gentleman, was not of a very energetic temperament, and that he bowed
submissively to his wife's sceptre. However this may have been, he
loved both her and the son she bore him, tenderly and devotedly.

But the happiness of this union was not long to remain untroubled. This
time, however, the storms came from without. Leo was still a child when
that revolutionary epoch arrived which set half Europe in a blaze. The
rebellion, so often quelled, broke out with renewed violence in the
Polish provinces. Morynski and Baratowski were true sons of their
fatherland. They threw themselves with ardent enthusiasm into the
struggle from which they hoped the salvation of their country and the
restoration of its greatness. The insurrection ended, as so many of its
predecessors had ended, in hopeless defeat. It was forcibly suppressed,
and on this occasion much severity was displayed towards the rebel
districts. Prince Baratowski and his brother-in-law fled to Paris,
whither their wives and children followed them. Countess Morynska, a
delicate, fragile woman, did not long endure the sojourn in a foreign
land. She died in the following year, and Bronislaus then gave his
child into his sister's charge. He himself could no longer bear to stay
in Paris, where everything reminded him of the wife he had loved so
ardently, and lost. He lived a restless, wandering life, roving from
place to place, returning every now and then to see his daughter. At
last, an amnesty being proclaimed, he was free to go back to his native
country, where, through the death of a relation, he had lately
succeeded to the estate of Rakowicz. He now settled down on his new
property. Matters stood far otherwise with Prince Baratowski, who was
excluded from the amnesty. He had been one of the leaders of the
rebellion, and had taken a prominent part in the movement. Return was
not to be thought of for him, and his wife and son shared his exile,
until his death removed all barriers, and they too became free to make
their future home where they would.




                              CHAPTER IV.


It was early in the forenoon, and the morning room of the villa in
C----, occupied by the Baratowski family, was, for the time being,
tenanted by the Princess alone. She was absorbed in the study of a
letter which she had received an hour before, and which contained an
announcement from Waldemar that he intended coming over that day, and
should follow quickly on his messenger's steps. The mother gazed as
fixedly at the missive as though from the short cold words, or from the
handwriting, she were trying to discern the character of the son who
had grown so complete a stranger to her. Since her second marriage she
had seen him but at rare intervals; and during the latter years she had
spent in France, communication between them had almost entirely ceased.
The picture she still bore fresh in mind of the boy at the age of ten
was unprepossessing enough, and the accounts she heard of the youth
coincided but too well with it. Nevertheless, it was necessary, at any
cost, to secure an influence over him; and the Princess, though she in
no way attempted to disguise from herself the difficulties in her path,
was not the woman to recoil from the task she had undertaken. She had
risen and was pacing up and down the room, musing deeply, when a quick
loud step was heard without. It halted in the anteroom. Next minute
Pawlick opened the door, and announced "Herr Waldemar Nordeck." The
visitor entered, the door closed behind him, and mother and son stood
face to face.

Waldemar came forward a few steps, and then suddenly stopped. The
Princess, in the act of going to meet him, paused in her turn. In the
very moment of their meeting a bridgeless chasm seemed to yawn open
between them; all the estrangement and enmity of former years rose up
again mighty as ever. That pause, that silence of a second, spoke more
plainly than words. It showed that the voice of natural affection was
mute in the mother's heart, as in the son's. The Princess was the first
to dissimulate that instinctive movement of reserve.

"I thank you for coming, my son," said she, and held out her hand to
him.

Waldemar drew near slowly. He just touched the offered hand, and then
let it drop. No attempt at an embrace was made on either side. The
Princess's figure, notwithstanding her dusky mourning robes, was very
beautiful and imposing as she stood there in the bright sunlight; but
it appeared to make no impression on the young man, albeit he kept his
eyes steadily fixed on her.

The mother's gaze was riveted on his face; but she sought in vain there
for any reflection of her own features, for any trace which should
recall herself. Nothing met her view but a speaking likeness to the man
she hated even in death. The father stood before her portrayed in his
son, trait for trait.

"I counted upon your visit," went on the Princess, as she sat down and,
with a slight wave of her hand, assigned to him a place at her side.

Waldemar did not move.

"Will you not be seated?" The question was put quietly, but it admitted
of no refusal, and reminded young Nordeck that he could not
conveniently remain standing during the whole of his visit. He took no
notice of her repeated gesture, however; but drew forward a chair, and
sat down opposite his mother, leaving the place at her side empty.

The demonstration was unmistakable. For one moment the Princess's lips
tightened, but otherwise her face remained unmoved. Waldemar, too, now
sat in the full daylight. He again wore his shooting clothes, which,
though on this occasion they certainly bore no marks of recent sport,
yet betrayed no special care, and were worlds apart from anything
approaching a correct equestrian costume. In his left hand, ungloved
like its fellow, he held his round hat and whip. His boots were covered
with the dust of a two hours' ride, the rider not having thought fit to
shake it off; and his very manner of sitting down showed him to be
altogether unused to drawing-room etiquette. His mother saw all this at
a glance; but she also saw the inflexible defiance with which her son
had armed himself. Her task was no easy one, she felt.

"We have grown strangers to one another, Waldemar," she began; "and on
this our first meeting, I can hardly expect to receive from you a son's
affectionate greeting. From your early childhood I have been forced to
give you into other hands. I have never been allowed to exercise a
mother's rights, to fulfil a mother's duties towards you."

"I have wanted for nothing at my uncle Witold's," replied Waldemar,
curtly; "and I have certainly been more at home there than I should
have been in Prince Baratowski's house."

He laid a bitter emphasis on the name which did not escape the
Princess.

"Prince Baratowski is dead," said she, gravely. "You are in the
presence of his widow."

Waldemar looked up, and appeared now for the first time to notice her
mourning garb. "I am sorry for it--for your sake," he answered, coldly.

His mother put the subject from her with a wave of the hand. "Let us
say no more. You never knew the Prince, and I cannot expect you to feel
any kindliness towards the man who was my husband. I do not disguise
from myself that the loss I have sustained, cruel though it has been,
has done away with the barrier which stood between, and held us apart.
You have always looked on me exclusively as the Princess Baratowska.
Perhaps now you will recall to mind that I am also your mother, and
your father's widow."

At these last words Waldemar started up so hastily that his chair was
thrown to the ground. "I think we had better not touch on that. I have
come in order to show you that I am under no restraint, that I do just
what I choose. You wished to speak to me--here I am. What is it you
want with me?"

All the young man's rough recklessness, his utter disregard of the
feelings of others, spoke in these words. The allusion to his father
had evidently stung him; but the Princess had now risen in her turn,
and was standing opposite him.

"What I want with you? I want to break through that charmed circle
which an influence hostile to me has drawn around you. I want to remind
you that it is now time for you to see things with your own eyes, to
let your own judgment have free play, instead of blindly adopting the
views which other people have forced upon you. You have been taught to
hate your mother. I have long known it. Try first whether she deserves
your hatred, and then decide for yourself. That is what I want with
you, my son, since you compel me to answer such a question."

This was said with so much quiet energy, such loftiness of look and
tone, that it could not fail to have its effect upon Waldemar. He felt
he had insulted his mother; but he felt also that the insult glanced
off from her, powerless to wound, and that appeal to his independence
had not fallen on deaf ears.

"I bear you no hatred, mother," said he. It was the first time he had
pronounced that name.

"But you have no confidence in me," she answered; "yet that is the
first thing I must ask of you. It will not be easy to you to put faith
in me, I know. From your earliest childhood the seeds of distrust have
been sown in your soul. Your guardian has done all in his power to
alienate you from me, and to bind you solely to himself. I only fear
that he, of all men, was least fitted to bring up the heir of Wilicza!"

Her eyes took a rapid survey of the young man as she spoke, and the
look completed her meaning; unfortunately Waldemar understood both look
and words, and was roused by them to a pitch of extreme irritation.

"I will not have a word said against my uncle," he exclaimed, in a
sudden outburst of anger. "He has been a second father to me; and if I
was only sent for here to listen to attacks against him, I had better
go back again at once. We shall never understand each other."

The Princess saw the mistake she had made in giving the reins to her
animosity against that detested guardian, but the thing was done. To
yield now was to compromise her whole authority. She felt that on no
account must she recede; yet everything depended on Waldemar's staying.

Suddenly help came to her from a quarter whence she least expected it.
At this critical moment a side door was opened, and Wanda, who had just
returned from a walk with her father, and had no idea that a visitor
had arrived in her absence, came into the room.

Waldemar, who had turned to leave it, stopped all at once, as though
rooted to the ground. A flame of fire seemed to shoot up into his face,
so rapid, so deep was the crimson that dyed it. The anger and defiance
which an instant before had shone in his eyes, vanished as by
enchantment; and, for a moment, he remained transfixed, with his eyes
riveted on the young Countess. The latter was about to retire, on
seeing a stranger in her aunt's company; but when the stranger turned
his face towards her, a half-uttered exclamation of surprise escaped
her also. She, however, preserved all her presence of mind; and, far
from being overtaken by any confusion, was apparently seized by a
violent temptation to laugh which it cost her much trouble to subdue.
It was too late to go back now, so she shut the door and went up to her
aunt.

"My son, Waldemar Nordeck; my niece, Countess Morynska," said the
Princess, looking first at Waldemar with considerable astonishment, and
then casting a questioning glance at the young girl.

Wanda had quickly overcome the childish impulse to merriment,
remembering that she was now a grown-up lady. Her graceful courtesy was
so correct that the severest mistress of deportment could have found no
fault with it; but there came a traitorous little twitch about the
youthful lips again as Waldemar returned her salutation by a movement
which he no doubt intended for a bow, but which certainly had a very
strange effect. Once again his mother scanned his face, as though she
would read his most secret thoughts. "It seems you know your cousin
already?" she said, with a peculiar emphasis. Her allusion to the
relationship between himself and the new-comer only increased the young
man's discomfiture.

"I don't know," he replied, in extreme embarrassment. "I did ...
certainly ... some days ago ..."

"Herr Nordeck was so good as to act as my guide when I lost my way in
the forest," interposed Wanda. "It was the day before yesterday, when
we made our excursion to the Beech Holm."

At the time the Princess had described this walk as a rebellious and
highly improper freak; but now she had not a word of blame for it. Her
tone was almost sweet as she replied--

"Indeed! a singular meeting. But why behave to each other as though you
were strangers? Between relations etiquette need not be so strictly
observed. You may certainly offer your cousin your hand, Wanda."

Wanda obeyed, holding out her hand in a frank, unembarrassed way.
Cousin Leo was already gallant enough to kiss it when she gave it him
in token of reconciliation after a quarrel; his elder brother,
unfortunately, appeared to possess none of this chivalry. He took the
delicate little fingers, shyly and hesitatingly at first, as though he
hardly dared to touch them, then all at once pressed them so tightly
between his own that the girl almost cried out with the pain. Of this
new cousin she knew as little as Leo, nay, still less; she had
therefore looked forward to his announced visit with proportionable
curiosity. Her disenchantment knew no bounds.

The Princess had stood by, a silent though keen observer. Her eye never
quitted Waldemar's face.

"So you met each other in the forest?" said she again. "Was no name
mentioned on either side to enlighten you?"

"Well, I unluckily took Herr Nordeck for a wood demon," burst out
Wanda, paying no heed to her aunt's grave, reproving glance, "and he
did his best to strengthen me in the belief. You can't imagine, aunt,
what an interesting interview we had. During the half hour we were
together, he never let me find out whether he really belonged to the
present race of men, or to the old fabulous ages. Under these
circumstances, a formal introduction was out of the question, of
course."

This little speech was made in a tone of impertinent, half-mocking
jest; but, strangely enough, Waldemar, who had recently shown himself
so irritable, did not appear in the least offended by it. His eyes were
still fixed on the young girl, and he hardly seemed to hear her
stinging little pleasantries.

The Princess, however, thought it time to put a stop to Wanda's
pertness. She turned to her son with calm as perfect as though the
previous scene between them had never taken place.

"You have not yet seen your brother, Waldemar, nor your uncle either; I
will take you to them. You will spend the day with us?" She spoke the
last words in an airy, assured tone, as though his staying were a thing
of course.

"If you wish it." This was said irresolutely, hesitatingly, but with
none of the fierce defiance of his former answers. Evidently Waldemar
no longer thought of going.

"Certainly I wish it. You would not leave us so abruptly on the
occasion of your first visit. Come, dear Wanda."

Young Nordeck wavered yet a moment; but as Wanda obeyed the summons,
his decision was taken. He laid the hat and riding-whip, to which he
had hitherto persistently clung, down on the chair he had a little
while before upset in his sudden blaze of anger, and meekly followed
the ladies as they led the way. A scarcely perceptible smile of triumph
played about the Princess's lips. She was too clever an observer not to
know that she had the game in her own hands. It is true that accident
had befriended her.




                               CHAPTER V.


Count Morynski and Leo were together in the drawing-room. They had
already heard from Pawlick of Waldemar's arrival, but had not wished to
disturb the first meeting between mother and son. The Count looked a
little surprised, as Wanda, whom he believed to be in her room, came in
with them; but he did not put the question which was on his lips. For
the moment young Nordeck engaged his whole attention. The Princess took
her younger son by the hand, and led him to the elder. "You do not know
each other yet," she said, significantly; "but to-day, at last, the
satisfaction of bringing you together is granted me. Leo is ready to
meet you with a brother's love, Waldemar. Let me hope that he may find
the same in you."

Waldemar, with a rapid glance, took the measure of the new-found
brother standing before him. There was no hostility in his manner now.
The young Prince's handsome face took him captive on the spot, so much
was evident; perhaps, too, he had been won over to a milder mood by
that which had passed, for when Leo, still with some shy reserve, held
out his hand to him, he grasped it warmly.

Count Morynski now drew near to address some words of courtesy to his
sister's son. The latter answered chiefly in monosyllables, and the
conversation, which, on Waldemar's account, was carried on exclusively
in German, would have been forced and languid, had not the Princess
guided it with truly masterly tact. She steered clear of every rock
ahead, she avoided every painful allusion, and skilfully contrived that
her brother, her sons, and Wanda should by turns be drawn into the
general talk, so as, for half an hour, really to conjure up an illusion
of the most perfect harmony reigning among the different members of the
family.

Leo stood close to Waldemar's chair, and the contrast between the
brothers was thus brought into strongest relief. The young Prince
himself had hardly emerged from boyhood; he no more than his neighbour
had yet ripened to man's estate. But how different was the transition
here! Waldemar had never appeared to greater disadvantage than by the
side of this slender, supple form, where there was symmetry in every
line--by this youthful aristocrat, with his easy, assured bearing, his
graceful gestures and ideally beautiful head. Young Nordeck's sharp,
angular figure, his irregular features and sombre eyes, looking out
from under a tangle of light hair, justified but too fully the mother's
feelings, as her gaze rested on them both--on her darling, her handsome
boy, so full of life and animation, and on that other, who was also her
son, but to whom she was linked by no single outward trait, by no
impulse of the heart. There was something in Waldemar's manner to-day
which showed him in a more than usually unfavourable light. The short,
imperious tone that was habitual to him, though unattractive enough,
was yet consistent with his general appearance, and lent to it a
character of its own. This tone he had maintained throughout the
interview with his mother; but, from the moment of the young Countess
Morynska's entrance, it had deserted him. For the first time in his
life he appeared shy and under restraint; for the first time he seemed
to feel the influence of society in every way superior to himself, and
the novelty of his position robbed him, not only of his defiance, but
visibly of his self-confidence also. He had come prepared to face a
hostile camp, and his resolution had armed him with a certain rugged
dignity. Now he had given up the fight, and his dignity had vanished.
He was awkward, abstracted, and Morynski's surprised look seemed now
and then to ask whether this really could be the Waldemar as to whom
such alarming reports had been made. When they had sat and talked for
about half an hour, Pawlick came in and announced that dinner was
ready.

"Leo, you must resign your office to your brother, and let him take
Wanda in to-day," said the Princess, as she rose and, passing her hand
through her brother's arm, went on first with him to the dining-room.

"Well," asked the Count in a low voice, and in Polish, "how do matters
stand? What was the result of the interview?"

The Princess only smiled. She gave one rapid glance back at Waldemar,
who was just going up to Wanda, and then answered, also in Polish,
"Make your mind easy. He will comply. I will answer for it."

It was nearly evening when young Nordeck set out on his homeward
journey. Leo went with his brother to the gate of the villa, and then
returned to the drawing-room. The Princess and Count Morynski were no
longer there, but Wanda still stood on the balcony, watching the
departing horseman.

"Good gracious, what a monster that Waldemar is!" cried Wanda to her
cousin as he came in. "However did you manage to keep serious all the
time, Leo? Look here, I have nearly bitten my handkerchief to pieces,
trying to hide that I was laughing; but I can't keep it down any
longer, or I shall suffocate!" and, falling on to one of the balcony
chairs, Wanda broke into a violent burst of merriment, which plainly
showed what severe restraint she must hitherto have placed on herself.

"We were prepared to find Waldemar odd," said Leo, half apologetically.
"After all we had heard of him, I, to tell the truth, expected he would
be much rougher and more disagreeable than he is."

"Oh, you only saw him in company dress to-day," jested Wanda; "but when
one has had the good fortune to admire him, as I did, in all his
primeval grandeur, it is hard to recover from the overpowering effect
of the savage's first appearance. I yet think with awe of our meeting
in the forest."

"Yes, you owe me an account of that meeting still," put in Leo. "So it
was Waldemar who showed you the way to the Beech Holm the day before
yesterday? I have gathered this much from your discourse, but I really
do not understand why you make such a mystery of the matter."

"I only did that to torment you," replied the young lady with great
candour. "You grew so angry when I told you of my interesting adventure
with a stranger. You naturally believed some fascinating cavalier had
escorted me, and I left you in that belief. Now, Leo"--here her gaiety
got the better of her again--"now you see it was not a very dangerous
affair."

"Well, yes, I see that," assented the young Prince, laughing; "but
Waldemar must have had some knightly instinct, or he would not have
condescended to act as your guide."

"Possibly; but I shall remember his escort as long as I live. Just
fancy, Leo; all in a minute I lost the path I had so often taken, and
which I thought I knew so well. At every attempt to find it I got
deeper and deeper into the forest, until at last I strayed into regions
quite unknown to me. I could not even tell in which direction the Beech
Holm or the sea lay, for there was not a breath of wind, and not a
murmur of the waves reached me. I stood still, not knowing what to do,
and was just on the point of turning back, when something broke through
the bushes as violently as though the woods were being beaten for a
battue. Suddenly the figure of a man stood before me, whom I really
could take for none other than the wood-demon in person. He was up to
his knees in mud. A freshly killed doe was thrown over his shoulder,
quite regardless of the fact that blood was dripping from the animal
down on to his clothes and staining them. The enormous yellow mane,
which serves him for hair, had been roughly used by the bushes, and was
hanging down over his face. He stood there with a gun in his hand, and
a growling, snarling dog at his side, who showed his teeth as he looked
at me. I ask you if it was possible to take this monster of the woods
for a human being bent on sport."

"You were in a tremendous fright, I suppose," said Leo, banteringly.

Wanda tossed her head. "In a fright? I? You ought to know by this time
that I am not timid. Another girl would have probably fled
precipitately, but I kept my ground, and asked the way to the Beech
Holm. Though I repeated the question twice, I got no answer. Instead of
replying, the spectre stood as though rooted to the ground, and stared
at me with its great wild eyes without uttering a sound. Then I did
begin to feel uncomfortable, and turned to go, when in a moment, with
two strides, he was at my side, pointing to the right, and showing an
unmistakable intention of acting as my guide."

"But not by pantomime alone?" interposed Leo. "Waldemar spoke to you,
surely."

"Oh yes, he spoke; he honoured me in all with six or seven words,
certainly not more. On joining company with him, I heard something like
'We must take to the right;' and on parting, 'Yonder lies the Beech
Holm.' During the half-hour's interval, there reigned an impressive
silence which I did not venture to break. And what a way it was we
took! First we went straight into the very midst of the thicket, my
amiable guide walking on ahead of me, trampling and crushing down the
bushes like a bear. I believe he destroyed half the forest to make some
sort of a passage for me. Then we came to a clearing, then to a bog. I
expected we should plunge right into it; but, marvellous to say, we
stopped on the brink. All this time not a word passed between us; but
my singular companion stuck close to my side, and whenever I looked up
I met his eyes, which seemed to grow more and more uncanny every
minute. I now inclined decidedly to the opinion that he had risen from
one of the ancient tumuli, and was prowling about in search of some
human being whom he would straightway drag off to one of the old
heathen altars, and there immolate. Just as I was preparing for my
approaching end, I saw the blue sea glistening through the branches,
and at once recognised the neighbourhood of the Beech Holm. My
wonderful cavalier came to a halt, fixed his great eyes on me once
more, as though he would eat me up on the spot, and seemed hardly to
hear that I was thanking him. Next minute I was on the shore, where I
caught sight of your boat. Think of my astonishment when I came in
to-day and found my wood-demon--my giant of primeval times, whom I
thought long since buried in some deep cavern of the earth--in my
aunt's reception room, and when the said ghostly vision was introduced
to me as 'Cousin Waldemar.' It is true, he conducted himself in the
most approved style; he even took me in to dinner. But, goodness me!
how funnily he set about it! I believe it was the first time in his
life he ever offered a lady his arm. Did you see how he bowed, how he
behaved at table? Don't be offended, Leo; but this new brother of yours
belongs rightly to the wilderness, and to the furthest depths of it,
too! There he has at least something awe-inspiring about him; but when
he comes out among civilised men, he simply convulses one with
laughter. And to think that he should be the future lord of Wilicza!"

At heart, Leo shared this opinion; but he thought it incumbent on him
to take his brother's part. He felt how infinitely superior to young
Nordeck he himself was, both in appearance and bearing, and this made
it easy to be generous.

"But it is not Waldemar's fault that his education has been so entirely
neglected," said he; "mamma thinks that his guardian has let him run
wild systematically."

"Well, all I can say is, he is a monster," decided the young lady. "I
herewith solemnly declare that if I have to go in to dinner with him
again, I will impose a voluntary fast on myself, and not appear at
table."

During their talk, Wanda's handkerchief, with which she had been
fanning herself, had slipped down, and now lay at some distance below
them in the ivy which crept round the balcony. Leo noticed this, and
gallantly bent to reach it. He was obliged almost to go down on his
knees. In this position, he picked up the handkerchief, and restored it
to his cousin. Instead of thanking him, she burst out into a peal of
laughter. The young Prince sprang to his feet.

"You are laughing?"

"Oh, not at you, Leo. It only struck me how unutterably comic your
brother would have looked in such a situation."

"Waldemar? Yes, indeed; but you will hardly have that satisfaction. He
will never bend the knee before a lady, certainly not before you."

"Certainly not before me!" repeated Wanda, in a tone of pique. "Oh, you
think I am still such a child, it is not worth while kneeling to me. I
have a great mind to prove to you the contrary."

"How?" asked Leo, laughing. "By bringing Waldemar to your feet,
perhaps?"

The girl pouted. "And suppose I undertook to do it?"

"Well, try your power on my brother, if you like," said he, touchily.
"Perhaps that will give you a better notion of what you can do, and
what you can't."

Wanda sprang up with the eagerness of a child who sees a new toy before
it.

"I agree. What shall we wager?"

"But it must be done in earnest, Wanda. It must not be a mere act of
politeness, like mine just now."

"Of course not," assented the young Countess. "You laugh; you think
such a thing is quite beyond the range of possibility. Well, we shall
see who wins. You shall behold Waldemar on his knees before we leave. I
only make one condition; you must give him no hint of it. I think it
would rouse all the bear in him if he were to hear we had presumed to
make his lordship the object of a wager."

"I won't say a word," declared Leo, carried away by her mischievous
eagerness, and joining in the frolic. "We shan't escape an outburst of
his Berserker wrath, though, when you laugh out at him at last, and
tell him the truth. But perhaps you mean to say yes?"

Both the children--for children they still were with their respective
sixteen and seventeen years--joked and made merry over their conceit,
as such thoughtless young creatures will. Accustomed constantly to
tease and torment each other, they had no misgivings about including a
third person in their sport. They never reflected how little Waldemar's
stern, unbending character was suited to such trifling, or to what
bitter earnest he might turn the play imagined by them in the foolish
gaiety of their hearts.




                               CHAPTER VI.


Some weeks had passed. The summer was drawing to an end, and all hands
at Altenhof were busy with the harvest. The Squire, who had spent his
whole morning in the fields, looking after the men and directing the
work, had come home weary and exhausted, and was settling himself down
for his well-earned after-dinner nap. Whilst making his preparations
for it, he looked round every now and then, half angrily, half
admiringly, at his adopted son, who was standing by the window dressed
in his usual riding gear, waiting for his horse to be brought round.

"So you are really going over to C---- in the heat of the day?" asked
Herr Witold. "I wish you joy of your two hours' ride. There is not a
bit of shade all the way. You will be getting a sunstroke--but you
don't seem able to live now without paying your respects to your mother
at least three or four times a week."

The young man frowned. "I can't refuse to go if my mother wishes to see
me. Now that we are so near each other she has a right to require that
I should pay her some visits."

"Well, she makes a famous use of the right," said Witold; "but I should
like to know how she has contrived to turn you into an obedient son. I
have tried in vain for nearly twenty years. She managed it in a single
day; she certainly always had the knack of governing people."

"You ought to know that I do not allow myself to be governed, uncle,"
replied Waldemar, in a tone of irritation. "My mother met me in a
conciliatory spirit, and I neither can nor will repulse her advances
roughly, as you did whilst I was under your guardianship."

"They tell you often enough that you are under it no longer, I'll be
bound," interrupted his uncle. "You have laid great stress on that for
the last few weeks; but it is quite unnecessary, my boy. You have, I am
sorry to say, never done anything but just what pleased you, and often
acted in opposition to my will. Your coming of age is a mere form, for
me, at least, though not for the Baratowskis. They best know what use
they mean to make of it, and why they are continually reminding you of
your freedom."

"What is the good of these perpetual suspicions?" cried Waldemar, in a
passion. "Am I to give up all intercourse with my relations for no
other reason but because you dislike them?"

"I wish you could put your dear relations' tenderness to the test,"
said Witold, ironically. "They would not trouble themselves so much
about you, if you did not happen to be master of Wilicza. Now, now,
don't fly out again. We have had quarrels enough about it of late, I am
not going to spoil my nap to-day. This confounded bathing season will
be over soon, and then we shall be quit of them all."

A short pause followed, Waldemar pacing impatiently up and down the
room.

"I can't think what they are about in the stables. I ordered Norman to
be saddled--the men seem to have gone to sleep over it."

"You are in a terrible hurry to get away, are not you?" asked the
Squire, drily. "I really believe they have given you some philtre over
in C----, which will not allow you to rest anywhere else. You can
hardly bear to wait until it is time for you to be in the saddle."

Waldemar made no reply. He began to whistle and to crack his whip in
the air.

"The Princess is going back to Paris, I presume?" asked Witold all at
once.

"I don't know. It is not decided yet where Leo is to finish his
studies. His mother will no doubt be guided by that in the choice of
her future home."

"I wish he would go and study in Constantinople, and that his lady
mother would be guided by that, and take herself off with him to the
land of the Turks; then, at all events, they could not be back for some
time," said Herr Witold, spitefully. "That young Baratowski must be a
perfect prodigy of learning. You are always talking of his studies."

"Leo has learned a great deal more than I, yet he is four years
younger," said Waldemar, in a grumbling voice.

"His mother has kept him to his books, no doubt. That boy has kept the
same tutor all the while, you may be sure; while six have decamped from
here, and the seventh only stays on with you because he can't very well
help himself."

"And why was not I kept to my books?" asked young Nordeck, suddenly,
crossing his arms defiantly and going up close to his guardian. The
latter stared at him in astonishment.

"I do believe the boy is going to reproach me with giving him his own
way in everything," he cried, in wrathful indignation.

"No," replied Waldemar, briefly. "You meant well, uncle; but you don't
know how I feel when I see that Leo is before me in everything, and
hear constantly of the necessity of further advantages for him, while I
stand by and ... But there shall be an end of it. I'll go to the
University, too."

Herr Witold, in his fright, nearly let fall the sofa cushion he was
comfortably adjusting.

"To the University?" he repeated.

"Yes, certainly. Dr. Fabian has been talking of it for months."

"And for months you have refused to go.

"That was before ... I have changed my mind now. Leo is to go to the
University next year, and if he is ready for it at eighteen, it must be
high time for me to be there. I am not going to be outdone always by my
younger brother. I shall talk to Dr. Fabian about it to-morrow. And now
I'll go round to the stables myself, and see whether Norman is saddled
at last. My patience is pretty well worn out."

With these words he took up his hat from the table, and hurried out of
the room, full of eagerness to be gone. Herr Witold sat still on the
sofa, holding the cushion. He did not think of laying it straight now.
It was all over with his noonday rest.

"What has come to the boy, Doctor? What have you been doing to the
boy?" he cried, angrily, as that inoffensive individual came into the
room.

"I?" asked the Doctor, in alarm. "Nothing! Why, he has but just left
you.

"Well, well, I don't mean you exactly," said the Squire, peevishly. "I
mean the Baratowski people. There has been no managing him since they
got him into their hands. Just fancy, he says now he wants to go to the
University."

"No? Really?" cried the Doctor, in delight.

This reply roused Herr Witold to still greater ire.

"Yes, it will be a matter of rejoicing to you," he grumbled. "You will
be enchanted to get away from here, and to leave me at Altenhof without
a soul to keep me company."

"You know that I have always advocated his going to the University. I
have unfortunately never found a hearing; and, if it really be the
Princess who has prevailed upon Waldemar to take this step, I can only
regard her influence as most beneficial."

"Deuce take her beneficial influence!" stormed the Squire, flinging the
unhappy sofa cushion into the middle of the room. "We shall soon see
what it all means. Something has happened to the boy. He wanders about
as if he were dreaming in broad daylight, takes no interest in
anything, and when one asks him a question he answers at cross
purposes. When he goes out shooting, he comes back with an empty
bag--he, who never used to miss a shot; and now he has all at once
taken to study, and there is no getting him from his books. I must find
out what has brought about this change in him, and you will have to
help me, Doctor. You must go over to C---- one of these days."

"No, for Heaven's sake, no!" protested Dr. Fabian. "What should I do
there?"

"See how the land lies," said the Squire, emphatically, "and bring me
back word. Something is going on there, of that I am certain. I can't
go over myself, for I am, so to speak, on a war-footing with the
Princess, and when we two come together there is sure to be a row. I
can't tolerate her spiteful ways, and she can't put up with my plain
speaking; but you, Doctor, stand as a neutral in the business. You are
the right man."

The Doctor with all his might resisted the requirement made of him.

"But I understand nothing of such matters," he complained. "You know,
too, how absent and ill at ease I am in my intercourse with strangers.
I should be especially so with the Princess. Besides, Waldemar would
never consent to my going with him."

"It is all of no use," interrupted Witold, dictatorially. "Go over
to C---- you must. You are the only creature in whom I have confidence,
Doctor. You won't desert me now?" With this he broke into such a flood
of argument, reproaches, and entreaties, that the poor Doctor, half
stunned by so much eloquence, surrendered at last, and promised all
that was asked of him.

The sound of hoofs was heard outside, and Waldemar, already mounted,
trotted past the window, then gave his horse the rein, and galloped
away without once looking back.

"Off he goes," said Witold, half grumbling, and yet brimming over anew
with admiration for his adopted son. "Just see how the boy sits his
horse. They might be cast in bronze! and it is no trifle to keep the
Norman well in hand."

"Waldemar has a singular mania for riding young horses which are only
half broken in," said the Doctor, anxiously. "I cannot understand why
he has selected Norman for his favourite. He is the most unmanageable,
the most restive, animal in the stables."

"That is the very reason," returned the Squire, laughing. "You know he
must have something to curb and master, or he finds no pleasure in the
game. But now, come here, Doctor; we must consider about this mission
of yours. You must set to work diplomatically, you know."

So saying, he grasped the Doctor's arm and dragged him off to the sofa.
Poor Fabian went docilely enough. He had resigned himself to his fate,
and only murmured occasionally, in doleful accents, "I a diplomatist,
Herr Witold? Mercy on me! la diplomatist!"


The Baratowski family had never taken much part in the gay doings of
the C---- season, and latterly they had withdrawn from them more and
more. Waldemar, who now paid them such frequent visits, always found
the family party alone. Count Morynski alone was wanting to it. He had
left a few days before the scene above described. It had been his
intention to take his daughter away with him; but the Princess
discovered that a longer stay at the seaside was essential to Wanda's
health, and prevailed on her brother to consent to a prolonged
separation. He yielded to his sister's wish, and set out on his
solitary way towards Rakowicz, where business matters required his
presence.

In spite of the noonday heat, young Nordeck had ridden over from
Altenhof at full speed. On his arrival he entered the Princess's room,
where he found her sitting at her writing-table. Had Leo come to her
thus, glowing and overheated, she would certainly have met him with
some word of remonstrance, of motherly solicitude; but Waldemar's
appearance, though possibly not unnoticed by her, excited no remark.

It was a singular fact that, although mother and son now saw each other
so frequently, no intimacy had taken root between them. The Princess
always treated Waldemar with the utmost consideration, and he strove to
tone down the harshness of his demeanour towards her; but in this
mutual endeavour to preserve a good understanding, there was not a
spark of warm, genuine feeling. They _could_ not cross the invisible
gulf which lay between them, though, for the time being, an extraneous
power had bridged it over. The greeting on either side was just as cool
as on the occasion of their first meeting; but Waldemar's eyes now
roved round the parlour with an uneasy, questioning glance.

"You are looking for Leo and Wanda?" said the Princess. "They have gone
down to the shore, and will wait for you there. You have planned a
boating excursion together, I think?"

"Yes. I will go and look for the others at once." Waldemar made a hasty
movement towards the door, but his mother laid her hand on his arm.

"I must claim your attention for a few minutes first. I have something
important to discuss with you."

"Won't it do later?" asked Waldemar, impatiently. "I should like
before ..."

"I particularly wish to speak to you alone," the Princess interrupted
him. "You will still be in time for the sail. You can all very well put
it off for a quarter of an hour."

Young Nordeck looked annoyed at being thus detained, and obeyed with
evident reluctance when invited to sit down. There seemed little
prospect of his attention being given to the matter in hand, for his
eyes wandered off continually to the window near him which opened on to
the shore.

"Our stay in C---- is drawing to an end," said the Princess; "we must
soon begin to think of our departure."

Waldemar gave a start almost of dismay.

"So soon? September promises to be fine, why not spend it here?"

"I cannot, on Wanda's account. I can hardly expect my brother to do
without his darling any longer. It was very unwillingly, and only by my
especial wish, that he consented to leave her behind. I promised him in
return that I would myself take her to Rakowicz."

"Rakowicz is not far from Wilicza, is it?" asked Waldemar, quickly.

"Only two or three miles; about half as far as Altenhof from this."

The young man was silent. He looked anxiously through the window again:
the shore seemed to have an unusual interest for him to-day.

"Speaking of Wilicza," said the Princess, negligently, "you will be
taking possession of your property soon, I suppose, now that you are of
age. When do you think of going there?"

"It was fixed for next spring," said Waldemar, absently, still absorbed
by his outdoor observations. "I wanted to stay on with my uncle through
the winter; but all that will be changed now, for I mean to go to the
University."

His mother bent her head approvingly.

"I can but applaud such a resolution. I have never disguised from you
that the essentially practical education you have received at your
guardian's has been, in my opinion, too one-sided. For such a position
as yours, some higher culture is indispensable."

"I should rather like to see Wilicza first, though." Waldemar made a
dash at his object. "I have not been there since my childhood, and ...
You will make a long stay at Rakowicz, will you not?"

"I do not know," replied the Princess. "For the present I shall
certainly accept the refuge offered by my brother to me and to my son.
Time will show whether we must make a permanent claim on his
generosity."

Young Nordeck looked up. "Refuge? Generosity? What do you mean,
mother?"

The Princess's lips twitched nervously, the only sign she gave that the
step she was about to take was one painful to her. With this exception
her face remained unmoved as she answered--

"Hitherto I have concealed the state of our circumstances from the
world, and I intend still to do so. To you, I neither can nor will make
a secret of our position. Yes, I am compelled to seek a refuge with my
brother. You know something of the events which happened during the
term of my second marriage. I stood at my husband's side when the storm
of revolution swept him down. I followed him into banishment, and for
ten long years I shared his exile. Our fortune was sacrificed to the
cause; for some time there has been a hopeless discrepancy between the
claims of our position and the means at our command. A cursory
inspection of our affairs, made since the Prince's death, has convinced
me that I must give up the struggle. We are at the end of our
resources."

Waldemar would have spoken. His mother raised her hand to silence him.

"You can understand what it costs me to make these disclosures to you,
and that I never should have entered on the subject if I myself had
been alone in question; but as a mother, I must look to my son's
interests. Every other consideration must give way to that. Leo stands
on the threshold of life, of his career. I do not fear for him the
privations of poverty, but its humiliations, for I know that he will
not be able to bear them. Fate has willed it that you should be rich;
henceforth, your wealth will be at your unlimited disposal. I confide
your brother's future to your generosity, and to your sense of honour."

Any other woman would have felt, and shown she felt, it keenly
mortifying thus to sue for help from the son of the man she had fled
from in scorn and hatred; but this woman so carried herself that the
painful step she had to take was in no degree lowering to her, and
wrought no prejudice to her dignity. Her bearing, as she stood before
her son, was not that of a supplicant. She made appeal neither to his
filial feeling, nor to an affection which, as she well knew, did not
exist. The mother with her rights stepped, for the time being, into the
background. She did not take her stand on them; but she demanded from
the elder brother's sense of justice that he should befriend the
younger--and it soon appeared that she had not erred in her judgment of
Waldemar. He sprang up quickly.

"And you only tell me this now, today? Why did I not hear of it
sooner?"

The Princess's eyes met his gravely and steadily.

"What answer would you have made me if, on our first meeting after our
long separation, I had made this communication to you?"

Waldemar looked down; he very well remembered the insulting manner in
which he had asked his mother what it was she wanted with him.

"You are mistaken in me," he replied, hastily. "I should never have
consented to your seeking help from any one but me. What! I am to be
master of Wilicza and allow my mother and brother to live in a state of
dependence! You are mistaken in me, mother; I have not deserved such
distrust!"

"I was not distrustful of you, my son, but only of that influence which
has guided you so far, and may perhaps be your guide even now. I do not
even know whether your friends will permit you to offer us an asylum."

Again she pricked him with a goad which never failed in its effect, and
which the mother was always ready to apply at the right moment. As
usual, it stung the young man's pride into arms.

"I think I have shown you that I can assert my own independence," he
replied, shortly. "Now tell me, what am I to do? I am ready for
anything."

The Princess felt she was about to hazard a bold stroke, but she went
on steadily, straight to her aim.

"We can only accept your help in one form, so that it shall not be made
a humiliation to us," said she. "You are master of Wilicza--would it
not seem natural that your mother and brother should be your guests in
your own house?"

Waldemar started. At the mention of Wilicza, the old suspicion and
distrust reared their heads anew. All the warnings he had heard from
his guardian against his mother's plans recurred to his memory. The
Princess saw this, and parried the danger with masterly skill.

"I only care for the place on account of its being near Rakowicz," she
said, indifferently. "From thence I could keep up a constant
intercourse with Wanda."

Near Rakowicz! constant intercourse with its inhabitants! That decided
the question. The young man's cheeks flushed crimson as he replied--

"Arrange it just as you like. I shall agree to everything. I am not
going to stay permanently at Wilicza just at present; but I will take
you there, at any rate--and there are long holidays at the University
every year."

The Princess held out her hand to him.

"I thank you, Waldemar, in my own name, and in Leo's."

Her thanks were sincerely meant, but there was no warmth or heartiness
in them, and Waldemar's reply was equally cool.

"Pray don't, mother; you make me feel ashamed. The thing is
settled--and now I can go to the shore at last, I suppose."

He seemed most desirous of escaping, and his mother detained him no
longer. She knew too well to whom she owed her victory. Standing at the
window, she watched the young man as he strode hastily along the garden
walk towards the shore; then, turning to her desk again, she sat down
to finish a letter she had been writing to her brother.

The letter was just completed, and the Princess was in the act of
sealing it, when Leo made his appearance. He looked almost as heated as
his brother had been previously; but, in his case, it was evidently
some inner disturbance which sent the blood to his temples. With a
frowning brow and lips tightly set, he drew near his mother, who looked
up in surprise.

"What is the matter, Leo? Why do you come alone? Did Waldemar not find
you and Wanda?"

"Oh, to be sure. He came to us a quarter of an hour ago," said Leo, in
an agitated tone.

"And where is he now?"

"He has gone out for a sail with Wanda."

"Alone?"

"Yes, all alone."

"You know very well I do not approve of such doings," said the
Princess, much annoyed. "If, now and then, I trust Wanda to you, that
is quite a different thing. You have been brought up together, and are
therefore entitled to treat each other as brother and sister. Waldemar
stands in quite a different relation to her, and moreover--I do not
choose that they should thus be left alone together. The boating
excursion was planned by you all in common. Why did you not remain with
the others?"

"Because I will not always stay where I am not wanted!" exclaimed Leo.
"Because it is no pleasure to me to see Waldemar following Wanda about
with his eyes, and behaving as if she were the only creature in
existence."

The Princess pressed the seal on her letter.

"I have told you before what I think of these foolish fits of jealousy,
Leo. Are you beginning with them again already?"

"Mamma!" The young Prince came up to the writing table with flashing
eyes. "Do you not see, or _will_ you not see, that Waldemar is in love
with your niece--that he worships her?"

"Well, and what do you do?" asked his mother, leaning back in her chair
composedly. "Precisely the same, or at least you fancy so. You cannot
expect me to take this boyish enthusiasm into serious account? You and
Waldemar are just at the age to need an ideal, and Wanda is the only
young girl with whom you have been thrown in contact so far.
Fortunately, she is still child enough to look on it all as a sort of
game, and it is for that reason alone I allow it to go on. If she were
to begin to take a more serious view of the matter, I should be obliged
to interfere and restrict your intercourse to narrower limits. But, if
I know anything of Wanda, the case will not arise. She plays with you
both, and laughs at you both. So indulge yet awhile in your romance,
young people! It will do your brother no harm to practise a little
gallantry. He needs it much, I am sorry to say!"

The smile which accompanied these words was truly insulting to a
youthful passion--it said so plainly, 'mere child's play.' Leo
restrained his indignation with much difficulty.

"I wish you would talk to Waldemar in that tone of his 'boyish
enthusiasm,'" he replied, with suppressed vehemence. "He would not take
it so quietly."

"I should not disguise from him, any more than from you, that I look
upon the matter as a piece of youthful folly. If, five or six years
hence, you speak to me of your love to Wanda, or if Waldemar tells me
of his, I shall attach some importance to your feelings. For the
present, you can safely play the part of your cousin's faithful
knights--always on condition that no disputes arise between you on the
subject."

"They have arisen already," declared Leo. "I have just had some very
sharp words with Waldemar. That was why I gave up the sail. I won't
bear it. He claims Wanda's company and conversation altogether for
himself, and I won't stand his imperious, dictatorial ways any longer
either. I shall take every opportunity now of letting him see it."

"You will not do that," interrupted his mother. "I am more desirous now
than ever that there should be a good understanding between you, for we
are going with Waldemar to Wilicza."

"To Wilicza!" cried Leo, in a fury; "and I am to be his guest there--to
be under him, perhaps! No, that I will never consent to; I will owe
Waldemar nothing. If it costs me my whole future, I'll accept nothing
from him!"

The Princess preserved her superior calm, but her brow grew dark as she
answered--

"If you are willing to set your whole future at stake for a mere whim,
I am still here to watch over your interests. Besides, it is not merely
a question of you or of me. There are other and higher considerations
which make a sojourn at Wilicza desirable for me, and I have no
intention of allowing my plans to be disturbed by your childish
jealousy. You know I should never ask of you anything that could
compromise your dignity; and you know, too, that I am accustomed to see
my will obeyed. I tell you, we are going to Wilicza, and you will treat
your brother with the regard and courtesy I show him myself. I require
obedience from you, Leo."

The young Prince knew that tone full well. He knew that when his mother
assumed it she meant to have her way at any cost; but on this occasion
a mighty spur urged him to resistance. If he ventured no reply in
words, his face betrayed that he was inclined to rebel in deeds, and
that he would hardly condescend so far as to show his brother the
required courtesy.

"I will take care that no provocation to these disputes shall arise in
future," went on the Princess. "We shall leave this in a week, and when
Wanda goes back to her father you will necessarily see less of her. As
to this sail, _tête-à-tête_ with Waldemar, of which I altogether
disapprove, it shall most decidedly be the last."

So saying, she rang, and, on Pawlick's appearing, gave him the letter
to take to the post. It conveyed news to Count Morynski of their
intended departure from C----, and informed him that his sister would
not at present make a claim on his hospitality, but that the former
mistress of Wilicza was about to return to, and take up her residence
in, her old home.




                              CHAPTER VII.


The boat containing Waldemar and the young Countess Morynska sailed
merrily before the breeze. The sea was rather rough on that day, and
the waves broke foaming against the keel of the little vessel as she
shot through them, dashing their spray overboard every now and then, a
fact which in no way disturbed the two occupants. Waldemar sat at the
helm, with the calm of an experienced steersman; and Wanda, who had
placed herself opposite him under the shadow of the sail, seemed to
find great enjoyment in the quick, bounding motion of the little craft,
and in their rapid onward progress.

"Leo will go and complain of us to my aunt," said she, looking back
towards the coast, which they had already left at some distance behind
them. "He went away in a great rage, and you _were_ very unkind to him,
Waldemar."

"I don't like any one else to take the rudder when I am in the boat,"
he answered, in a curt, authoritative tone.

"And suppose I wanted to have it?" asked Wanda, mischievously.

He made no reply, but stood up at once, and silently offered her his
place.

The young Countess laughed.

"Oh no. It was only to see what you would say. There is no pleasure for
me in the sail when I have to think of steering all the while."

Without a word, Waldemar again grasped the rudder which had been the
nominal subject of dispute between him and Leo, though the real cause
of their quarrel lay elsewhere.

"Where are we going?" Wanda began again, after a short pause.

"To the Beech Holm, I think. That was what we had settled."

"Won't it be rather far for to-day?" asked the girl, a little
anxiously.

"With the wind in our favour we shall be there in half an hour, and if
I work the oars well it will not take us much longer to get back. You
wanted to see the sunset from the Beech Holm, you know."

Wanda resisted no further, though a vague feeling of uneasiness came
over her. Heretofore Leo had been the constant companion of the young
people in their excursions by sea and land; this was the first time
they had been out alone together. Young as Wanda was, she would have
been no woman not to discover, before Waldemar's second visit was over,
what had made him so shy and confused on the first. He was incapable of
dissimulation, and his eyes spoke a language all too plain, though he
had as yet betrayed himself by no word. He was still more reserved and
monosyllabic with Wanda than with the others; but, notwithstanding
this, she knew her power over him well enough--knew how to use, and
occasionally to misuse it; for to her the whole thing was a sport, and
nothing more. It pleased her that she could rule this obstinate,
masterful nature with a word, nay, even with a look; it flattered her
to feel herself the object of a certainly somewhat mute and eccentric,
but yet passionate homage; above all, it delighted her to see how angry
Leo grew over the matter. Really to give the preference to his elder
brother never once entered her mind. Waldemar's person and manners were
to the last degree distasteful to her. She thought his appearance
'horrid;' his lack of courtesy shocked, and his conversation wearied
her. Love had not made young Nordeck more amiable. He showed her none
of those chivalrous attentions in which Leo, in spite of his youth, was
already an adept. He seemed, on the contrary, to yield with reluctance
to a charm from which he was unable to escape; yet everything in him
bore witness to the irresistible power which this first passion had
gained over him.

The Beech Holm must probably one day have been a little islet, as its
name would indicate; now it was only a thickly wooded hill, joined to
the shore by a narrow strip of land, or rather by a little chain of
sandy downs, whereby access could be had to it on foot. Notwithstanding
its beauty, the place was but little frequented. It was too secluded
and too distant for the brilliant, gaiety-loving visitors of C----,
whose excursions were generally made to some of the neighbouring
villages along the coast. To-day, as usual, there was no one on the
Holm when the boat came to land. Waldemar jumped out, whilst his
companion, without waiting for help, sprang lightly on to the white
sand, and ran off up the hill.

The Beech Holm well deserved its name. The whole wood, which lined the
shore for nearly a mile, showed nowhere so many or such fine trees of
this species as were gathered together on this spot of earth. Here
mighty old beeches stood, spreading their giant branches far over the
green turf, and over the grey, weather-beaten fragments of stone which
lay scattered here and there, the relics of heathen times--tradition
said of some ancient place of sacrifice. At the landing-place the trees
stood back on either side, and the broad, beautiful sea lay as in a
frame, its deep-blue plain stretching away far as the eye could reach.
No shore, no island obstructed the view, no sail rose on the horizon,
nothing but the sea in all its grandeur, and the Beech Holm, lying
there so solitary and world-forgotten, it might really have been a
little islet lost in mid-ocean.

Wanda had taken off her straw hat with its plain black ribbon, and sat
down on one of the moss-grown stones. She still wore half-mourning for
the late Prince Baratowski. Her white dress was only relieved by a
black knot here and there, and a little black scarf was thrown round
her shoulders. This sombre hue on her white garments gave to the girl's
appearance a subdued and softened tinge which was not habitual to it.
She looked infinitely charming as she sat thus with folded hands,
gazing meditatively out over the sea.

Waldemar, who had taken a seat by her side on the enormous root of an
old beech, seemed to be of this opinion, for he entertained himself
exclusively with looking at her. For him the scenery around existed
not. He started as from a dream when Wanda, pointing to her stone seat,
said jestingly--"I suppose this is one of your old Runic stones?"

Waldemar shrugged his shoulders. "You must ask my tutor, Dr. Fabian,
about that. He is more at home in the first century of our era than in
the present. He would give you a learned and lengthy dissertation on
Runic stones, dolmens, tumuli, and the like. It would afford him the
greatest pleasure."

"Oh no; for goodness' sake!" laughed Wanda; "but, if Dr. Fabian has
such an enthusiastic love for antiquity, I wonder he has not instilled
a taste for it into you. It seems to me you are quite indifferent on
the subject."

The young man's face took a most disdainful expression. "What do I care
for all their antiquarian nonsense? The woods and fields interest me
for the sport they can give me."

"How prosaic!" cried Wanda, indignantly. "So all your thoughts run on
your sport! I dare say here on the Beech Holm you are thinking of the
bucks and hares which may be hidden in the coverts."

"No," said Waldemar, slowly. "I am not."

"It would be unpardonable with such a prospect before you. Just look at
the evening glow out yonder! The waves seem literally to beam with
light."

Waldemar followed the direction of her hand with indifferent eyes.

"Yes; that is where they say Vineta went down."

"What went down?"

"Have not you heard? It is an old sea legend. I thought you knew it."

"No; tell me."

"I am a poor story-teller," said Waldemar, deprecatingly. "Ask our
fisher-folk about it. That old boatman yonder would give you a far
better and more complete account of it than I can."

"But I want to hear it from you," persisted Wanda. "I _will_; so go
on."

A frown gathered on Waldemar's brow. The command had been too
imperative.

"You will?" he repeated, rather sharply.

Wanda saw very well that he was offended; but she relied on her power
over him, a power she had often tested during the last few weeks.

"Yes, I will!" she declared, as decidedly as before.

The frown deepened on the young man's face. It was one of those moments
when he rose up in rebellion against the charm which held him captive;
but suddenly he met the dark eyes, and their look seemed to change the
order into an entreaty. It was all over now with his anger and
resistance. His brow cleared. He smiled.

"Well, then, I will give it you in my short, prosaic way," said he,
with an emphasis on the last words. "Vineta[1] was, so the story goes,
an old fortified place by the sea, and the capital of an ancient
nation. Her dominion extended over all the neighbouring coasts and over
the waves, where she ruled supreme. Unparalleled in splendour and
greatness, countless treasures flowed in to her from other lands; but
pride, presumption, and the sins of her inhabitants brought down the
chastisement of Heaven upon her, and she sank, swallowed up by the
waves. Our sailors still affirm and vow that yonder, where the coast
shelves back so far, the fortress of Vineta lies uninjured at the
bottom of the sea. They say that, deep down below in the water, they
catch a glimpse at times of towers and cupolas, hear the bells ring,
and occasionally, at enchanted hours, the whole fairy city rises out of
the depths, and shows itself to some specially favoured beholders.
There are plenty of strange mirage effects at sea, and here in the
north we have a sort of 'Fata Morgana,' though it comes but seldom ..."

"Oh, spare me all these tame explanations!" interrupted Wanda,
impatiently. "Who cares for them, when the legend is pretty--and
wonderfully pretty this one is, don't you think so?"

"I don't know," replied Waldemar, a little embarrassed. "I never
thought about it."

"Have you no feeling for poetry whatever?" cried the young Countess, in
despair. "Why, it is perfectly dreadful!"

He looked at her in surprise and some confusion.

"Do you think it so dreadful?"

"Of course I do!"

"No one has ever taught me to understand poetry," said the young man,
almost in a tone of apology. "In my uncle's house nobody knows anything
about it, and my tutors have never done more than give me dry, formal
lessons. I am only just beginning to see that there is such a thing in
the world."

The last words were spoken with a certain dreaminess of expression very
new to Waldemar. He tossed back the hair which, as usual, had fallen
low over his forehead, and leaned his head against the trunk of a
beech. Wanda suddenly discovered that the brow so constantly hidden
beneath those unkempt light locks was high and remarkably well-shaped.
Now that it was free and exposed to view, it seemed really to lend
nobility to the plain, irregular face. On the left temple a peculiarly
distinct blue vein stood out, marked and salient even in a moment of
repose. The young Countess had never noticed it before, hidden, as it
generally was, beneath the enormous lion's mane which was always an
object of derision to her.

"Do you know, I have just found out something, Waldemar," said she,
mischievously.

"Well?" he asked, without changing his position.

"That strange blue vein on your forehead. My aunt has one, too, on the
temple, just in the same place and exactly similar, only less strongly
marked."

"Really? Well, it is the only thing I have of my mother about me."

"Yes, it is true; you are not in the least like her," said Wanda,
candidly, "and Leo is her very image!"

"Leo!" repeated Waldemar, with a singular intonation. "Leo, indeed!
That is a very different matter."

Wanda laughed. "Why? Has the younger brother any advantage over the
elder in this respect?"

"Why not? He has the advantage of his mother's love. I should think
that was enough."

"Waldemar, how can you say so!" put in the young Countess.

"Is the idea new to you?" he said, looking up with a frown. "I should
have thought any third person must see how I stand with my mother. She
forces herself to be friendly to me--oh yes!--and it must cost her
trouble enough at times; but she can't overcome her secret dislike any
more than I can mine--so we have nothing to reproach one another with."

Wanda was silent, embarrassed, and greatly surprised at the turn the
conversation had taken. Waldemar did not appear to notice this; he went
on in a hard voice--

"The Princess Baratowska is, and always will be, a stranger to me. I do
not belong to her or to her son. I feel that every time we meet. You
have no idea, Wanda, what it costs me to cross that threshold
continually, to be constantly with them. It is a positive torture I
impose on myself, and I should never have thought I could bear it so
patiently."

"But what do you do it for?" asked Wanda, imprudently. "Nobody forces
you to come."

He looked at her, and the answer lay in his eyes--shone in them so
distinctly that the young girl blushed to her very forehead. That
ardent, reproachful gaze spoke all too plainly.

"You do my aunt injustice," she said, speaking quickly, as if to hide
her embarrassment. "She must, and does, love her own son."

"Oh, no doubt!" Waldemar's bitterness had now grown quite beyond his
control. "I am persuaded that she loves Leo very much, though she is so
severe with him; but why should she love me, or I her? I was hardly a
year old when I lost father and mother at one stroke. I was torn from
my home to be brought up among strangers. When, later on, I came to
reflect, to ask questions, I learned that my parents' marriage had been
an unhappy one--a misfortune for both of them--and that they had
separated in bitter hatred; and I learned, too, how this hatred had
survived the grave, and how it exerted an influence on my own life.
They told me that my mother had been to blame for all; and yet I heard
many an allusion to my father, many an expression used with regard to
him, which disturbed my judgment of him also. Where other children are
taught to love and respect, suspicion and distrust were instilled into
me--and now I cannot get free from them. My uncle has been good to me;
he is fond of me in his way, but he could not offer me anything beyond
the life he leads himself. You know pretty well what that is--I think
every one in my mother's house is well posted up on that subject--and
yet, Wanda, you expect me to have some feeling for the poetical!"

He spoke almost resentfully, and yet there was a sort of low, regretful
sadness in his words. Wanda looked up at her companion with great
astonished eyes. She could hardly recognise him to-day. It was the
first time she had ever had any serious conversation with him, the
first time he had departed from his shy monosyllabic reserve. The
peculiarly cold relations between the mother and son had not escaped
her; but she had not believed the latter to be in any way affected by
the existing estrangement. He had never alluded to the situation by a
word; and now, all at once, he showed himself to be most keenly alive
to, and deeply wounded by it. Now, in this hour, there dawned on the
girl's mind some dim notion of what Waldemar's youth had been--how
empty, lonely, and desolate, and how friendless and neglected the young
heir whose riches she had so often heard extolled.

"You wanted to see the sunset," said Waldemar, suddenly changing the
subject and speaking in quite a different tone, as he rose and came to
her side. "I think we are having a rare one to-day."

And truly the clouds which bordered the horizon were suffused with a
crimson glow, and the sun, still radiantly clear, was sinking lower and
lower towards the sea, which flashed into a sudden glory at its
farewell greeting. A flood of light streamed over its surface,
spreading ever wider and wider--only over the spot where Vineta lay
deep down at the bottom of the sea, the waves kept their sombre purple,
while in their furrows gleamed bright streaks as of liquid gold, and
above them thousands of glittering sparks danced and floated.

It must be owned that in the old legends there is a something which
lifts them out of the domain of superstition, and even to a denizen of
the modern world an hour may come when the old enchanting glamour makes
itself felt, quickening the phantasies of the past into actual living
realities. Truly, these legends sprang from the hearts of men; and
their eternal problems, like their eternal truths, still preserve a
strong hold on the human breast. Not to every one, indeed, does the
fairy world open its gates, so closely guarded in these our days; but
the two now seated on the Beech Holm must have belonged to the elect
few, for they distinctly felt the charm which drew them gently but
irresistibly within the magic circle, and neither of them had the
courage, or the will, forcibly to break the spell.

Over their heads the wind rustled in the branches, louder still ran the
murmur and plash of the sea at their feet. Wave upon wave came rolling
up, rearing their white foam-crests aloft for an instant, then crashing
over on to the shore. It was the old mighty ocean melody, the song of
breeze and billow combined, which in its everlasting freshness enthrals
every listener's heart. It sings now of dreamy, sunshiny calm, anon of
raging storms with their terror and desolation, of restless, endless,
surging life--each succeeding wave bringing a new tone of its own, each
breath of wind echoing a responsive chord.

Waldemar and his young companion must have well understood this
language, for they listened to it in breathless silence; and as they so
sat and hearkened, another sound stole on their ears. Up from the very
depths of the ocean came the faint chiming of bells, and about their
hearts a feeling gathered as of pain and longing, mingled with a dim
far-off perception of infinite bliss. From the purple waves yonder rose
a shining vision. It floated on the waters, away into the golden glory,
and there stood bright and definite, a world of countless, unknown
treasures, a picture framed in a magic halo--the old fairy city of
Vineta!

The burning edge of the great glowing disc now touched, as it were, the
sea beneath it, and sinking ever deeper and deeper, disappeared at last
below the horizon. One more flaming, fiery blaze--then the light went
out, and the deep red hue still staining the water paled and gradually
died away.

Wanda drew a long breath, and passed her hand across her brow.

"The sun is down," she said in a low voice; "we must be thinking of
going back."

"Of going back?" repeated Waldemar, as in a dream. "Already?"

The girl rose quickly, as though to escape from some weight of
uneasiness. "The daylight will soon be gone now, and we must get back
to C---- before it grows dusk, or my aunt will never forgive me for
coming without her leave."

"_I_ will set that right with my mother," said Waldemar, and he too
seemed to speak the indifferent words with an effort; "but if you wish
to start ..."

"I do wish it, please."

The young man turned to go towards the boat, but all at once he
stopped.

"You will be going away soon now, Wanda. In a few days, will you not?"

The question was put in a strangely agitated tone, and the young
Countess's voice too had lost its natural ring, as she answered--

"I must go to my father now; he has done without me so long."

"My mother and Leo are going to Wilicza." Waldemar hesitated between
the words, as though something caught his breath. "There is some talk
of my joining them. May I?"

"Why do you ask me?" said Wanda, with an embarrassment very unusual to
her. "It depends entirely upon yourself whether you visit your own
property or not."

The young man did not heed the remark. He bent lower over her. His
voice faltered, as it seemed, with deep passionate anxiety.

"But I do ask you, Wanda--you alone! May I come to Wilicza?"

"Yes," fell almost involuntarily from Wanda's lips; but in the same
moment she started back, frightened at what she had done, for Waldemar
seized her hand impetuously, and held it fast, as though it were his
for ever and ever. The young Countess felt how he interpreted her
'yes,' and grew confused and troubled. A thrill of sudden alarm shot
through her. Waldemar noticed that she drew back.

"Have I been too rough again?" he asked, in a low voice. "You must not
be angry with me, Wanda--not to-day. It was only the idea of your going
away that I could not bear. Now I know that I may see you again--now I
will wait patiently till we are at Wilicza."

She made no reply, and they both went silently down to the boat.
Waldemar put up the sail, and settled himself to the oars. With a few
powerful strokes he sent the little craft far out to sea. A faint, rosy
glimmer still lingered on the waves as the boat glided through them.
Neither of the young people spoke during the journey. There was no
sound, save the monotonous ripple of the water; the last transient glow
died out of the sky, and the early shades of twilight fell over the
Beech Holm, as it receded farther and farther into the distance. The
sunset dream was over; but that old legend, which had woven its
threads, tells us that he who has once looked on the lost Vineta, has
once heard the sound of her bells, is pursued all his life by a longing
which leaves him no rest until the enchanted city rises before him once
more--or draws him down below into the depths.




                             CHAPTER VIII.


In Herr Witold's opinion, the diplomatic mission for which he had
selected Dr. Fabian would be comparatively easy of performance; the
chief difficulty lay in preparing the way for it. In order to gain
accurate information as to 'what was really going on in C----,' the
Doctor must, naturally, have access to the Princess Baratowska's house,
and this could only be obtained through Waldemar. Witold racked his
brains to think how he could put the matter before his adopted son, so
as not to be met at the outset by a decided refusal. Chance
unexpectedly befriended him. On Waldemar's last visit, the Princess had
expressed a wish to make the acquaintance of her son's tutor. The young
man spoke of it on his return, and the Squire caught eagerly at the
welcome opportunity. For once in his life he was able to approve of a
wish of the Princess Hedwiga's as rational. He held the Doctor
inexorably to his word, and the latter, who had all along hoped that
the scheme would fall through, frustrated by his pupil's obstinacy, was
obliged, two days later, to set out for C---- in Waldemar's company, in
order to undergo the desired presentation.

Waldemar was in the saddle as usual. He was passionately fond of
riding, and detested a drive along the sandy or stony roads, over which
he could gallop so swiftly. It did not occur to him to take a seat in
the carriage to-day out of courtesy to his tutor. Dr. Fabian was
accustomed to such marks of disrespect, and, shy and yielding by
nature, he had not the courage to make a firm stand against his pupil's
cavalier treatment of him, or, on its account, to resign his post. He
was without pecuniary resources of his own; a situation meant for him
the means of earning a livelihood. The life at Altenhof suited him but
ill; still, on the whole, he contrived to take little part in it. He
only appeared at table, and again for an hour in the evening, to keep
the Squire company. His pupil made but small claim on his time.
Waldemar was always glad when the hours for study were over, and his
master was still more so. All the rest of the day was at the latter's
own disposal, and he could pursue his hobby, his old Germanic
researches, undisturbed. To these beloved studies Herr Witold owed it
that the present preceptor of his adopted son did not follow the
example of his six predecessors, and decamp from the place; for the
Doctor said to himself with justice that, in another situation where
the boys under his charge would require constant supervision, it would
be all over with his archaeology. It needed, indeed, a patient
character like Fabian's to hold out under such trying circumstances.
To-day again he gave proof of his forbearance, bearing Waldemar's
desertion in silence, when that young gentleman, giving spurs to his
horse, actually rode on before, and only pulled rein to wait for him at
the entrance to C----, which they reached about noon.

On their arrival they found only Countess Wanda in the drawing-room,
and Dr. Fabian went through the first ordeal of introduction with much
embarrassment, it is true, but still with a tolerable presence.
Unfortunately, his visible and somewhat comic uneasiness at once
incited the young Countess to bring her talent for mischief to bear on
him.

"So, Doctor, you are my Cousin Waldemar's tutor?" she began. "I offer
you my sincere condolences, and pity you with all my heart."

Fabian looked up startled, and then glanced with alarm at his pupil,
who, however, seemed not to have heard the remark--his face did not
betray a trace of anger or indignation.

"Why so, Countess?" stammered the Doctor.

"I mean, it must be a difficult office to educate Herr Waldemar
Nordeck," continued Wanda, quite undisturbed, and with intense
enjoyment of the confusion her words produced.

Again Dr. Fabian glanced across at Waldemar with an expression of real
anguish. He knew how sensitive the young man was, how ill he could
brook a jest. Often enough had a far more inoffensive observation from
Herr Witold called forth a perfect storm; but, curiously enough, there
was no sign of one to-day. Waldemar was leaning quietly on Countess
Morynska's chair. A smile even hovered about his lips, as, bending down
to her, he asked--

"Do you think me such a bad fellow, then?"

"Yes, I do. Had not I the pleasure of seeing you in a regular passion
the day before yesterday, at the time of the quarrel about the rudder?"

"But I was not in a passion with _you_." said Waldemar, reproachfully.

The Doctor let fall the hat he had hitherto grasped with both hands.
What mild, gentle tones were those he had heard from his rough pupil's
mouth, and what meant the look which accompanied it? The conversation
went on as it had begun, Wanda teasing the young man in her usual
merry, high-handed way, and Waldemar lending himself to the sport with
infinite patience. Nothing seemed to irritate or offend him here. He
had a smile for her every joke, and was, indeed, completely
metamorphosed since he had come into the young Countess's presence.

"Dr. Fabian is listening to us quite devoutly," she laughed. "It
rejoices you to see us in such good spirits, Doctor?"

Poor Doctor! He was not thinking of rejoicing. Everything was going
round him in a whirl. Slight as was his experience of love matters, the
truth began gradually to dawn upon him. He could now form some idea of
how 'the land lay.' This, then, was the reason Waldemar had so amiably
consented to the reconciliation; this was why he so assiduously rode
over to C---- in storm and sunshine; here was the explanation of the
change in his whole behaviour. Herr Witold would certainly have a fit
when he heard of it--Herr Witold, who had such a deeply rooted aversion
to the entire 'Polish lot!' The diplomatic mission was indeed crowned
with success in the very first half-hour; but its result filled the
ambassador with such alarm that he entirely forgot the dissimulation
which had been enjoined on him, and would probably have betrayed his
trepidation, had not the Princess just then come in.

The lady had more than one reason for wishing to make the personal
acquaintance of her son's tutor, who would accompany his pupil to the
University. Now that the reconciliation had been achieved, that a
lasting connection seemed likely to follow, Waldemar's nearest
surroundings could not be a matter of indifference to her. She
convinced herself, before ten minutes were over, that there was nothing
to fear from the harmless Fabian; that, on the contrary, he might be
made useful, possibly unknown to himself. Many things might be learned
from the constant companion which could not be extracted from the
taciturn Waldemar, and this was no unimportant consideration. The
Princess did the Doctor the honour to look upon him as a fitting
instrument for her use. She therefore treated him with much
condescending kindness, and the humility with which he received such
condescension met with her full approbation. She forgave him his
shyness and awkwardness, or rather she looked on both as very natural
in her presence, and deigned to engage him in conversation at some
length.

On his mother's entrance, Waldemar had relapsed into his usual laconic
mood. He took little part in the general talk, but after a time he said
a few words to the Princess in a low voice. She rose at once, and went
out with him on to the balcony.

"You wish to speak to me alone?" she asked.

"Only for a minute," replied Waldemar. "I only wanted to tell you that
it will not be possible for me to accompany you and Leo to Wilicza, as
we had agreed."

"Why? Are difficulties placed in your way?"

"Yes," said the young man, impatiently. "There are, it appears, certain
formalities to be gone through, relating to my coming of age, at which
I am bound to be present. My father's will gives most decided
directions on the subject. Neither my uncle Witold nor I ever thought
about it; and now, just when I want to go, the notice has come. I shall
have to stay here for the present."

"Well, in that case, we will put off our journey also," said the
Princess, "and I must send Wanda to Rakowicz alone."

"On no account," returned Waldemar, with much decision. "I have already
written to Wilicza to say that you will arrive in the course of a few
days, and that the necessary preparations are to be made at the
castle."

"And you?"

"I shall come as soon as I am at liberty. Anyway, I shall spend a few
weeks with you before I go to the University."

"One more question, Waldemar," said the Princess, gravely. "Does your
ex-guardian know of these arrangements?"

"No, I have only spoken of my visit to Wilicza, so far."

"Then you will have to tell him of our intended sojourn there."

"I mean to," replied Waldemar, shortly. "I have written to my agent
that he is to place himself at your service until I arrive. You have
only to give your orders. I have provided for their being obeyed."

The Princess would have expressed her thanks, but she could not bring
herself to articulate them. She knew so well that this generous
consideration was not shown her for her own sake, and the particularly
cold manner in which the obligation was conferred made it incumbent on
her to accept it with equal reserve, if she would not incur a
humiliation.

"So we may certainly expect you," she said. "As for Leo ..."

"Leo is sulky still, because of our quarrel the day before yesterday,"
interrupted Waldemar. "When I arrived just now, he turned off very
demonstratively towards the shore, pretending not to see me."

The Princess knitted her brows. Leo had received strict orders to meet
his brother in a friendly manner, and now he was showing this
rebellious spirit at a most inopportune moment.

"Leo is often hasty and thoughtless. I will see that he makes the first
advances towards a reconciliation."

Waldemar declined coolly. "No, no, we shall settle it better between
ourselves. You need not be uneasy."

They went back into the drawing-room, where Wanda meanwhile had been
amusing herself by sending Dr. Fabian from one stage of embarrassment
to another. The Princess now released him. She wished thoroughly to
discuss the plan of her son's studies, and he was obliged to follow her
into her private room.

"Poor Doctor!" said Wanda, looking after him. "It seems to me you have
quite reversed your _rôles_. You have not a particle of respect for
your teacher, but he stands in unbounded awe of you."

Waldemar did not contradict this assertion, which was but too just; he
merely remarked--

"Does it appear to you that Dr. Fabian is a person to inspire respect?"

"Not exactly; but he seems very forbearing and good-natured."

The young man looked contemptuous.

"Perhaps so; but those are qualities I do not particularly value."

"One should tyrannise well over you if one wishes to inspire respect?"
said Wanda, with an arch glance up at him.

Waldemar drew forward a chair, and sat down by her side. "It all
depends upon who plays the tyrant. I would not advise any one at
Altenhof to try it, not even Uncle Witold, and here I only stand it
from one person."

"Who knows!" cried Wanda, lightly. "I should not care to make you angry
in real earnest."

He made no reply. His thoughts had evidently wandered from the
conversation, and were following another track.

"Did not you think it was very beautiful on the Beech Holm the day
before yesterday?" he asked suddenly, with a brusque transition.

A slight blush rose to the young Countess's cheeks, but she answered in
her former sprightly tone--

"I think there is something uncanny about the place in spite of its
beauty; and, as to those sea legends of yours, I certainly shall not
listen to them again at the sunset hour. One really comes to believe in
the old fables."

"Yes, one comes to believe in them!" said Waldemar, in a low tone. "You
reproached me with not entering into the poetry of the tradition. I
have learned to understand it now in my turn."

Wanda was silent. She was struggling to keep down a certain
embarrassment which had assailed her yesterday for the first time in
her life. Before this, on young Nordeck's entrance, the feeling had
taken possession of her. She had tried to laugh it off, to jest it
away, and had succeeded in the presence of others; but directly the two
were left alone together, it returned in full force. She could not get
back the tranquil easy tone of former days. That strange evening on the
Beech Holm! It had invested with a singular earnest a matter which was,
and certainly was to remain, nothing but a joke.

Waldemar waited for an answer in vain. He seemed rather hurt that none
came.

"I was telling my mother just now that I cannot go with you all to
Wilicza," he began again. "I shall not be there for three or four
weeks."

"Well, that is not long," said Wanda.

"Not long? Why, it is an eternity!" he cried, vehemently. "You can form
no idea of what it costs me to stay behind, and let you set out alone."

"Waldemar, pray ..." Wanda interposed in visible distress. He did not
heed her, but went on with the same vehemence.

"I promised to wait until we were at Wilicza, but at that time I hoped
to travel with you. Now it may be a whole month before we see each
other again, and I cannot be silent so long. I cannot know you
constantly in Leo's company, unless I have the conviction that you
belong to me, to me alone."

The avowal came so suddenly, with such a rush, that the young Countess
had no time to ward it off; and, indeed, any attempt of hers to stay
this burst of passion would have been in vain. He had seized her hand
again, and held it fast, as he had held it that evening on the Beech
Holm.

"Do not shrink from me so, Wanda! You must long have known what brings
me to this place. I have never been able to hide it, and you have borne
with me--you have never repulsed me. I must break silence at last. I
know I am not as others are. I know there is little, perhaps nothing,
in me to please you; but I can, and will, learn to be different. It is
solely and entirely on your account that I have imposed on myself these
years at the University. What do I care for study, or for the life out
yonder? I care for them nothing at all; but I have seen that I often
shock you, that you sometimes laugh at me--and ... and you shall not do
it any more. Only give me the certainty that you are mine, that I shall
not lose you. Wanda, I have been alone ever since I was a child--sadly
alone, often. If I have seemed rough and wild to you--you know, dear, I
have had no mother, no affection. I could not grow up to be like Leo,
who has had both; but I can love, perhaps more ardently and better than
he. You are the only creature I have ever loved, and one single word
from you will make up to me for all the past. Say the word, Wanda--or
give me, at least, hope that I may one day hear it from your lips; but,
I entreat of you, do not say no, for I could not, could not bear it."

He was actually on his knees before her; but the young Countess had no
thought now of enjoying the triumph she had once desired in her
childish presumption and vanity. A dim suspicion had, now and again,
crossed her mind that the play was growing more like earnest than she
had intended, and that it would not be easy to end it by treating it as
a mere joke; but, with the heedlessness of her sixteen years, she had
put the thought from her. Now the crisis had come, and she must face
it--must reply to this passionate wooer, who would be satisfied by
nothing less than a 'yes' or a 'no.' Truly, the wooing was not an
alluring one. There was none of that tender romantic halo about it
which, to a young girl's imagination, appears all essential. Even
through this avowal of his love there ran a touch of that sternness
which was inseparable from Waldemar's character; but every word told of
stormy, long pent-up emotion--spoke of passion's ardent glow. Now for
the first time Wanda saw how earnest he was in this matter of his love;
and, with a pang of burning self-reproach, the thought flashed through
her mind--what had she done?

"Get up, Waldemar, pray--I entreat of you!" Her voice shook with
repressed alarm and anxiety.

"When I hear you say yes, not before!"

"I cannot--not now--do get up!"

He did not obey her; he was still in the same supplicating attitude,
when the door leading from the anteroom was unexpectedly opened, and
Leo entered.

For one moment the new-comer stood rooted to the spot; then a cry of
indignation escaped his lips. "So this is how it is!"

Waldemar had sprung to his feet. His eyes blazed with anger. "What do
you want here?" he demanded of his brother, imperiously.

Leo had been pale from agitation, but the tone of this question sent
the blood up to his face. With a few rapid strides he stood before
Waldemar.

"You seem to think my presence here unnecessary," said he, with
flashing eyes. "Yet I of all people can best unriddle to you the scene
which has just taken place."

"Leo, do not speak!" cried Wanda, half entreating, half commanding;
but, in his jealousy, the young Prince lost sight of every other
consideration.

"I will speak," he returned, in his exasperation. "My word only bound
me until the wager was won, and I have just seen with my own eyes in
whose favour it is decided. How often I have begged of you to make an
end of the sport. You knew it wounded me, that it drove me to
desperation. You persisted in it, nevertheless. Am I to submit quietly
while Waldemar, in his fancied triumph, shows me the door--I, who am
witness of how you undertook to bring Waldemar to his knees, come what
might? Well, you have succeeded; but at least he shall know the truth!"

At the first word 'wager,' a great shock had passed through Waldemar's
frame; now he stood motionless, grasping the back of the chair
convulsively, whilst his eyes were turned on the young Countess with a
strange expression.

"What--what does this mean?" he asked, in a hoarse whisper.

Wanda drooped her head consciously. There was a struggle in her mind
between anger against Leo and shame at her own conduct; while, sharper
than either, prevailed a feeling of keen, intense anxiety. She knew now
how cruelly the blow would tell! Leo, too, was silent--struck by the
sudden change in his brother's countenance; he began also to feel how
unjustifiably he had acted in exposing Wanda, and how needful it was
for him to stop.

"What does this mean?" repeated Waldemar, suddenly rousing himself from
his torpor, and going straight up to the young girl. "Leo speaks of
some wager, of some sport of which I have been the object. Answer me,
Wanda. I will believe you, and you only. Tell me that it is a lie!"

"So I am a liar in your eyes," broke out Leo; but his brother did not
heed him. The young Countess's silence told him enough--he needed no
further confirmation; but, with the discovery of the truth, all the
savage fierceness of his nature rose up within him, and now that the
charm to which he had so long yielded was broken, that fierceness
carried him beyond all bounds.

"I will have an answer!" he broke out in a fury. "Have I really only
been a plaything for you, an amusement for your caprices? Have you been
laughing at me, making a mock of me, while I ... You will give me an
answer, Wanda--an answer on the spot, or I ..."

He did not finish the sentence; but his look and tone were so menacing
that Leo stepped before Wanda to protect her. She, too, now drew
herself erect, however. The sight of the young man's ungovernable rage
had given her back her self-possession.

"I will not allow myself to be questioned in this manner!" she began,
and would have added words of proud defiance, when suddenly her eye met
Waldemar's, and she stopped. Though his features still worked with
passion, there was something in his look which told of the man's
unspeakable mental torture at seeing his love scorned and betrayed, the
ideal he had worshipped hopelessly and utterly destroyed. But her voice
seemed to recall him to his senses. His clenched fists relaxed, and he
pressed his lips tightly together, as though resolved that no further
word should pass them. His breast heaved convulsively in the mighty
effort he was making to restrain his rage. He staggered, and leaned
against the chair for support.

"What ails you, Waldemar?" asked Leo in alarm, as, remorse springing up
within him, he advanced towards his brother.

Waldemar raised himself, and, waving off Leo, turned to go without
uttering a word, but with a face from which every drop of blood had
receded.

At this moment the Princess made her appearance, accompanied by Dr.
Fabian. The sound of their voices, growing louder and louder, had
reached her in her room, and made it clear to her that something
unusual was going on in the drawing-room. She came in quickly, and for
an instant her entrance was unnoticed. Wanda stood vacillating between
defiance and distress; but at this crisis the latter gained the upper
hand, and, with the cry of a child confessing a fault and praying to be
forgiven, she called to the young man to come back.

"Waldemar!"

He stopped. "Have you anything else to say to me, Countess Morynska?"

The young Countess started. Never before had that tone of frigid,
cutting contempt met her ear, and the burning blush which mantled to
her face showed how keenly she felt it. But now the Princess barred her
son's passage.

"What has happened? Where are you going, Waldemar?"

"Away from here," he answered in a dull low tone, without looking up.

"But explain to me what ..."

"I cannot; let me go. I cannot stay!" and, thrusting his mother aside,
he rushed out.

"Well, then, I must request of you an explanation of this strange
scene," said the Princess, turning to the others. "Stay, Doctor!" she
continued, as Dr. Fabian, who up to this time had remained at the door,
an anxious spectator, now made as though he would follow his pupil.
"There is evidently some misunderstanding here, and I must beg of you
to undertake the task of clearing up any mistake existing in my son's
mind. By rushing away in that violent manner, he has made it impossible
for me to explain matters myself. What has happened? I insist on being
told."

Wanda did not respond to this authoritative demand; she threw herself
on the sofa, and burst into a passionate flood of tears. Leo, on a sign
from his mother, went up to her at the window, and related what had
passed. The Princess's mien grew more and more ominously dark at every
word he said, and it evidently cost her an effort to preserve her calm
demeanour, as she turned to the Doctor at length and said, with much
apparent composure--

"It is as I thought--a misunderstanding, nothing more! A foolish jest
between my niece and my younger son has given Waldemar cause to feel
offended. I beg of you to tell him that I regret it sincerely, but that
I expect of him that he will not attach undue importance to the folly
of two children." She laid a stress on the last word.

"It would be best for me to go now and look after my pupil," Fabian
ventured to remark.

"By all means, do so," assented the lady, desirous now of ridding
herself of this innocent but most unwelcome witness of the family
quarrel. "Good-bye for the present, Doctor. I shall quite hope to see
you back soon in Waldemar's company."

She spoke these last words very graciously, and received the tutor's
parting obeisance with a smiling face; but when the door had closed
behind him, the Princess stepped in sharply between Wanda and Leo, and
on her countenance were written signs of an approaching storm, such as
but rarely disturbed the even rule of this severe mother and aunt.

Meanwhile Dr. Fabian had learned from Pawlick that young Herr Nordeck
had thrown himself on to his horse and ridden away. There was nothing
for it now but to drive off to Altenhof after him, which the Doctor did
as speedily as possible. On arriving there, however, he heard that
Waldemar had not yet returned. The tutor could not help feeling uneasy
at this prolonged absence, which, under ordinary circumstances, he
would hardly have remarked. The conclusion of the agitated scene he had
witnessed directed his surmises pretty near the truth. The Princess,
certainly, had spoken of a misunderstanding only, of a jest which her
son had taken amiss; but Waldemar's violent exit, his cutting reply to
the young Countess's cry of entreaty--above all, the expression of his
face--showed that the matter in question was of a very different
nature. Something serious must have occurred that Waldemar, who but a
short time before had patiently, in contradiction to his whole
character, submitted to Wanda's every whim, should now turn his back on
her and hers, and leave his mother's house in a manner which seemed to
preclude all idea of return.

The whole afternoon wore away, and still Waldemar did not appear. Dr.
Fabian waited and hoped in vain. He was glad that Herr Witold had taken
advantage of his two house-mates' absence to drive over to the
neighbouring town, from whence he was not expected to return until
evening; so that, for the present at least, there was an escape from
his inevitable questions.

Hour after hour passed away. Evening came; but neither the inspector
who had been over to the forester's house, nor the men coming home from
the fields, had seen anything of the young master. The Doctor's anxiety
now drove him out of doors. He walked some distance up the road which
led to the park, and along which every new-comer must pass. At some
distance from this road ran a very broad, deep ditch, which was
generally full of water, but was now dried up by the heat of the
summer, the great unhewn stones with which the bottom was paved lying
exposed to view. From the bridge which spanned it an extensive view
could be had of the fields around. It was still quite light out here in
the open air--only the woods began to wrap themselves in shade. Dr.
Fabian stood on the bridge, not knowing what to do next, and
considering whether he should go on farther, or turn back, when at last
the figure of a horseman appeared in the distance, coming towards him
at a gallop. The Doctor drew a deep breath of relief. He himself did
not exactly know what he had feared; but, anyway, his fears had been
groundless, and, full of rejoicing at the fact, he hurried along the
side of the ditch towards the approaching figure on horseback.

"Thank God you are there, Waldemar!" cried he. "I have been so uneasy
about you."

"Why?" he asked, coldly. "Am I a child that I may not be let out of
sight?"

In spite of his enforced calm, there was a strange sound in his voice
which at once called up afresh the Doctor's hardly appeased anxiety. He
now noticed that the horse was completely exhausted. It was covered
with foam from head to foot, the white flakes fell from its nostrils,
and its chest heaved and panted. The animal had evidently been spurred
on and on without rest or respite; but the rider showed no signs of
fatigue. He sat firm in the saddle, grasped the reins with an iron
grasp, and, instead of turning off aside in the direction of the
bridge, made as though he would leap the ditch.

"For God's sake, do not attempt such a mad, rash act!" remonstrated
Fabian. "You know Norman never will take the ditch."

"He will take it to-day," declared Waldemar, driving his spurs into the
horse's flanks. It reared high in the air, but shied back from the
obstacle, feeling, perhaps, that its exhausted strength would fail it
at the critical moment.

"But listen, do listen!" entreated the Doctor, in spite of his timidity
coming close up to the rearing, plunging animal. "You are requiring
what is impossible. The leap will miscarry; and, in your fall, your
head will be dashed to pieces on the stones below."

For all reply, Waldemar drove his Norman on anew. "Get out of my way!"
he gasped. "I will go over. Out of the way, I say!"

That wild tone of torture and desperation revealed to the Doctor how
matters stood with his pupil at this moment, and how little he cared
whether he were really dashed to pieces on the stones below, or not. In
his mortal dread of the accident he saw inevitably approaching, this
man, usually so timorous, ventured to seize the reins, meaning to
continue his remonstrances. Just then, however, a fearful blow of the
whip crashed down on the rebellious animal. It reared again, and beat
the air with its forefeet, but still refused the leap. At the same
instant, a faint cry reached the rider's ears. He started, stopped, and
then, with a movement swift as lightning, reined his horse back. It was
too late. Dr. Fabian had been thrown to the ground, and Waldemar,
leaping from his saddle, saw his tutor stretched, bleeding and
unconscious, at his feet.




                              CHAPTER IX.


The dwellers at Altenhof had passed a week of great suspense and
anxiety. When Herr Witold returned home on the evening of the accident,
he found the whole house in commotion. Dr. Fabian lay bleeding and
still unconscious in his room; and Waldemar, with a face which
terrified his guardian even more than the sight of the sufferer, was
endeavouring to stanch the wound. Nothing could be extracted from him,
save that he had been the cause of the misfortune which had occurred;
so the Squire was obliged, in a great measure, to rely on the reports
of the servants. From them he learned that the young master had
returned at dusk, bearing in his arms the injured man, whom he must
have carried from a distance, and that he had immediately sent off
messengers to the nearest doctors. A quarter of an hour later, the
horse had come in in his turn, exhausted, and bearing all the traces of
fast and furious riding. The animal, on being abandoned by its master,
had taken the familiar road home--that was all the servants knew. The
wound on the Doctor's head, evidently caused by a blow from the hoof,
seemed of a serious nature; and the great loss of blood and weakly
constitution of the patient aroused for some time fears of the worst.
Herr Witold, thoroughly sound and healthy himself, and accustomed to a
like vigour in Waldemar, had no experience of sickness or suspense, and
swore often enough that for all the gold in the world he would not live
through that week again. To-day, for the first time, the Squire's face
wore its accustomed cheery look, as he sat by the bed in the patient's
room.

"So we have tided over the worst," said he. "And now, Doctor, you will
do me the favour to have a little rational talk with Waldemar." He
pointed to his adopted son, who stood by the window, leaning his head
against the panes, and looking out absently into the court. "I can do
nothing with him, but you can obtain what you like from him now; so try
and bring him to reason, or I shall have the boy ruined for life
through this unhappy business."

Doctor Fabian, who wore a broad white bandage across his brow, still
looked very weak and wasted; but he was sitting up, supported by
pillows, and his voice, though faint, was quite clear as he asked--

"What do you wish Waldemar to do?"

"I wish him to be reasonable," returned Witold, emphatically; "to be
reasonable, and to thank God that things have gone so well with us;
instead of which he goes about tormenting himself, as if he really had
a murder on his conscience. I was anxious enough myself for the first
two or three days, when your life hung on a thread; but now that the
doctor has declared you to be out of danger, one may breathe freely
again. There is no good in overdoing a thing, and I can't bear any
longer to see the boy wandering about with such a face, and hardly
saying a word for hours together."

"But I have told Waldemar over and over again that I alone am to blame
for the accident," said the Doctor. "His attention was quite taken up
with his horse; he could not see I was standing so near. I was
imprudent enough to seize the animal's veins, and it pulled me to the
ground."

"You caught hold of Norman's reins?" asked the Squire, petrified with
amazement. "You, who will go ten paces out of any horse's way, and have
never ventured to approach the wild beast? How did you come to do
that?"

Fabian glanced across at his pupil. "I was afraid of an accident," he
answered, gently.

"Which would unquestionably have happened," went on Witold. "Waldemar
could not have all his five senses about him that evening, to want to
leap the ditch just at that spot, at dusk too, and with a horse dead
beat! I have always told him that temper of his would get him into
trouble some day. Now he has had a lesson--but he takes it rather too
much to heart. So, Doctor, you just read him a sermon--you are allowed
to talk now, you know--and persuade him to be reasonable. He will do
what you tell him now, I am certain."

Saying which, the Squire rose and left the room.

The two who remained behind were silent awhile. At last the Doctor
began--

"Did you hear what I have been charged with, Waldemar?"

The young man, who up to this time had stood by the window, silent and
abstracted, as though the conversation in no way concerned him, turned
round at once, and went up to the bed. At first sight, Witold's anxiety
might have appeared exaggerated. Such a nature as Waldemar's does not
succumb so easily to moral influences. He only looked somewhat paler
than of yore; but any one who observed him closely would have discerned
the change.

There was a strange, new expression in his face, well calculated to
excite uneasiness--a peculiar rigidity of feature, as though all
emotion had died out within him. This, however, might only be the
vizier behind which some deeply wounded feeling hid itself from the
outer world. His voice, too, had lost its full strong ring; it sounded
weary and spiritless as he replied--

"Don't listen to my uncle. There is nothing the matter with me."

Dr. Fabian took his pupil's hand between his own, the young man
submitting unresistingly.

"I have not ventured to touch on the subject yet," went on the Doctor,
timidly. "I see it still gives you pain. Shall I be silent?"

Waldemar drew a deep, long breath.

"No," said he, after a minute. "I ought to thank you for withholding
the truth from my uncle. He would have tortured me with questions which
I should not have answered; but my madness on that evening nearly cost
you your life. I cannot--I do not wish to deny to you what you, indeed,
must know already."

"I know nothing," replied the Doctor, with a troubled look. "I can only
form a guess from the scene I witnessed. Waldemar, tell me, for
Heaven's sake, what had taken place?"

"Oh, it was nothing--a mere childish joke," said Waldemar, bitterly. "A
piece of folly, which was not worthy to be taken seriously--so my
mother wrote the day before yesterday. Unfortunately, I have taken it
seriously--so seriously that it has wrecked part of my life for me,
perhaps the best part."

"You love Countess Morynska?" asked the Doctor, in a low tone.

"I _did_ love her; it is over. I know now that she was miserably
trifling with me. I have done with her and her love."

Dr. Fabian shook his head, as he scanned the young man's face with deep
anxiety. "Done with her? no, not for some time to come! I can see but
too plainly what you are suffering at this moment."

Waldemar passed his hand across his brow. "That will pass. I have borne
it, and I shall conquer it; for conquer it I will, at any cost. Only
one thing I beg of you. Say no word of it to my uncle, nor--nor to me.
I shall battle down the weakness, I know; but I cannot speak of it, not
even to you. Let me settle the matter by myself--it will be all the
sooner buried."

His trembling lips betrayed how sensitive was the wound to the
slightest touch. The Doctor saw he must desist.

"I will be silent, since you wish it. You shall in future hear no word
of it from me."

"In future!" repeated Waldemar. "Why, are you thinking of staying on
with me? I took it for granted that you would leave us when you got
well. I can hardly expect you to put up with a pupil who rides you down
in return for all your care and trouble."

The Doctor took the young man's hands again soothingly between his own.

"As though I did not know that you have suffered far more than I! One
good result my illness has had. It has convinced me on a point--forgive
me--on which I was not fully convinced before. I know now that you have
a heart to feel for others."

Waldemar seemed hardly to hear the last words. His eyes had a gloomy,
absent look; but suddenly he roused himself, and said, "My uncle is
right in one thing. How did you come to take hold of Norman's reins,
you of all people?"

Fabian smiled. "You mean because my cowardice is notorious? It was
anxiety on your account which made me courageous for once. I had, it is
true, often seen you commit similar mad acts of rashness, and never
ventured to interfere; but then I always knew that you were a match for
the danger which you set yourself to overcome. On that evening you were
not bent on overcoming a danger; you were bent on bringing about that
fall, Waldemar. I saw you wished for it, saw it would be death to you,
if I did not hold you back by force, and I forgot even my fear, and
seized the bridle."

Waldemar looked at the speaker with wide, astonished eyes. "So it was
not mere imprudence, not by any unlucky accident that you were thrown
to the ground. You knew to what you were exposing yourself. Do you care
at all about my life, then? I thought nobody cared for it."

"Nobody? and your guardian?"

"Uncle Witold? Yes, he perhaps; but no one else."

"I think I have shown you that somebody else cares," said the Doctor,
with gentle reproach.

The young man bent over him.

"I know that I have deserved it least of all from you; but, believe me,
Doctor, I have had a hard lesson, so hard a one that I shall never
forget it as long as I live. From the hour I carried you home bleeding,
from the two first days when the surgeon gave you up for lost, I have
been learning what a murderer must feel. If you really are willing to
stay on with me, you may risk it now. Here, by your bed of pain, I have
for ever forsworn those violent fits of passion which blind me to
everything that comes in my way. You shall not have to complain of me
any more."

The words were spoken with a touch of the old energy; but Dr. Fabian
still gazed anxiously into his pupil's countenance, as the latter bent
over him. "I wish you could tell me that with a different face," he
replied. "Of course I shall stay with you; but I would rather have your
old impetuosity than this dull unnatural calm. There is a look in your
eye which does not please me."

Waldemar raised himself quickly, withdrawing from the too keen
observation. "Don't let us be for ever talking of me," he said. "The
doctor says you may have some fresh air now. Shall I open the window?"

The sick man sighed. He saw there was nothing to be done here;
moreover, the conversation was now interrupted by the entrance of Herr
Witold.

"Here I am again," said he, coming in. "Waldemar, you will have to go
down. Young Prince Baratowski is there."

"Leo?" asked Waldemar, in evident astonishment.

"Yes, he wants to speak to you. My presence will be superfluous, I am
very sure, so I'll stay and keep the Doctor company."

The young man left the room, and Witold sat down in his former place by
the bedside.

"The Baratowskis are exceedingly anxious to get hold of him again,"
said he, alluding to his adopted son. "Three days ago a letter came
from her Highness, our lady mamma. Waldemar has not answered it, to my
knowledge; in fact, nothing would induce him to leave you, so now the
brother is sent over in person. And I must say this, the young Polish
shoot is of a very trim growth--a perfect picture of a boy! only,
unfortunately, as like his mother as two peas, which goes strongly
against him in my eyes. And now it just occurs to me, I have never
asked you what discoveries you made at C----. In my worry about you, I
had quite forgotten the whole affair."

Dr. Fabian cast down his eyes, and plucked nervously at the
counterpane. "I am sorry I cannot give you any information, Herr
Witold," he replied. "My visit to C---- was too short, too hurried, and
I told you before that I had neither skill nor luck for a diplomatist."

"Ah, you are thinking of the crack in your skull," said the Squire;
"but that had nothing to do with the business. However, I won't bother
you with such commissions in future. So you could not find out
anything? More's the pity! And how goes it with Waldemar? Did you read
him a good lecture?"

"He has promised that he will endeavour to put all that has passed away
from his mind."

"Thank God! I tell you, you can do anything with him now; and what is
more, Doctor, we have both of us been unjust to the boy in thinking he
had no feeling. I never should have imagined he would take the thing so
much to heart."

On entering the study or 'den' before described, Waldemar found his
brother waiting for him. The young Prince, on arriving, had been
struck by the appearance of the old-fashioned, somewhat low-roofed
dwelling-house, and was now examining with wondering eyes the modest
arrangements of the room into which he had been shown. Accustomed from
his earliest childhood to a well-appointed, elegant house, he could not
understand how his brother, wealthy as he knew him to be, could
possibly endure to live on here. The _salon_ of the hired house at
C----, which to him and to the Princess appeared miserably shabby, was
splendid in comparison to this reception-room at Altenhof.

All these reflections vanished, however, on Waldemar's entrance. Leo
went up to him, and said hastily, as though to get over a disagreeable
but unavoidable task as speedily as possible, "You are surprised to see
me here; but you have not been near us for a whole week, and you have
not answered mamma's letter, so there was nothing left us but to come
and look after you."

It was easy to see that, in paying this visit, the young man was not
acting spontaneously. His speech and manner were decidedly constrained.
He seemed on the point of holding out his hand to his brother, but
evidently could not quite prevail on himself to offer such a mark of
amity. The little movement was not followed up.

Waldemar either did not, or would not, notice it. "You come by your
mother's, desire?" he asked.

Leo reddened. He best knew what a struggle it had cost the Princess to
extort compliance; how she had needed to employ the whole weight of her
authority before he would consent to take this journey to Altenhof.

"Yes," he replied, somewhat tardily.

"I am sorry you should have had to take a step which must appear a
humiliating one to you, Leo. I should certainly have spared it you, if
I had known anything of the matter."

Leo looked up in surprise. The tone was as new to him as the
consideration for his feelings, coming from this quarter.

"Mamma declared you had been insulted in our house," he began
again--"insulted by me, and that, therefore, I must make the first
advances towards a reconciliation. I feel myself now that she is right.
You will believe me, Waldemar"--here his voice grew agitated--"you will
believe me, that without such a feeling on my part I never should have
come, never!"

"I believe you," was the short, but decided answer.

"Well, then, don't make it so hard for me to beg your pardon!" cried
Leo, really stretching out his hand now. His brother declined it.

"I cannot accept your excuses. Neither you nor my mother are to blame
for the insult I received in your house; moreover, it is already past
and forgotten. Let us say no more about it."

Leo's astonishment grew with every minute. He could make nothing of
this quiet coolness which he had been so far from expecting. Had he not
himself witnessed Waldemar's terrible agitation, and that scarcely a
week ago?

"I did not think you could forget so quickly!" he replied, with
unfeigned wonder.

"When my contempt is aroused, certainly!"

"Waldemar, that is too severe," Leo broke out. "You do Wanda a wrong.
She herself charged me to say to you ..."

"Had you not better spare me Countess Morynska's message?" said his
brother, interrupting him. "My view of the case is, I should imagine,
the one in question now, and it differs altogether from yours--but let
us drop the subject. My mother will not, of course, expect me to bid
her good-bye in person. She will understand that, for the present, I
shall avoid her house, and that I shall not come to Wilicza this
autumn, as we had agreed. Perhaps I may see you there next year."

The young Prince drew back with a dark frown on his brow. "You do not
suppose that, after this quarrel, after the cold repulse I have met
with here, we can still be your guests?" he asked, angrily.

Waldemar crossed his arms, and leaned on the bureau. "You mistake.
There has been no quarrel between us. My mother, in her letter to me,
condemned the late incident in very decided terms. You showed a
disapproval even more marked by interfering the other day; and if I
desired any formal satisfaction, you offer it me now by coming here.
What has the whole business to do with your staying at my place? But
you always opposed the plan, I know. For what reason?"

"Because it is humiliating to me--and what was painful to me before,
has now become impossible. Mamma may determine on what she likes, but I
will not set my foot ..."

Waldemar laid his hand kindly on the boy's arm. "Do not say it out,
Leo. Later on you may feel yourself bound by a word spoken in haste.
You are in no way concerned in the matter. I offered my mother a home
at Wilicza, and she accepted it. Under existing circumstances, it was
no more than my duty. I could not consent to her staying with strangers
for any length of time--so the plan still holds good. Besides, you will
be going to the University, and at most will only run over to Wilicza
in the holidays to see my mother. If she thinks the arrangement
compatible with her pride, you may very well put up with it."

"But I know that our whole living depends on it!" cried Leo,
impulsively. "I have insulted you--I feel it now--and you cannot
require me to accept anything at your hands!"

"You have offered me no offence," said Waldemar, gravely. "On the
contrary, you are the only one who has been true to me; and if your
words stung me at first, I thank you for them now. You should only have
spoken sooner; but I could hardly expect you to play the part of
informer. I understand that nothing but the passion of the moment would
have forced the disclosure from you. Your intervention rent away a net
in which I lay captive, and you do not suppose I am so weak a creature
as to complain of that. Between us two all enmity is at an end."

Resentment and a feeling of shame were struggling together in Leo's
mind. He knew right well that he had been prompted by jealousy alone,
and felt his share in the fault the more keenly, the more he was
absolved from blame. He had counted on a violent scene with his
brother, of whose passionate temper he had had sufficient proofs; but
now he stood before him utterly disconcerted. The young Prince was not
yet experienced enough in the reading of men's hearts to see, or even
to dream of, all that lay behind Waldemar's incomprehensible calm,
or to guess by what an effort it was assumed. He accepted it as
genuine. One thing he clearly felt, and that was his brother's evident
desire that neither he nor the Princess should suffer by what had
occurred--that it should still be possible for them to accept a home
from him. Perhaps under similar circumstances Leo would not have been
capable of a like generosity; but for this very reason he felt it to
its fullest extent.

"Waldemar, I am sorry for what has happened," he said, frankly holding
out his hand. There was nothing constrained about his manner this
time--the impulse came straight from his heart--and this time his
brother grasped the offered hand unhesitatingly.

"Promise me to go with our mother to Wilicza. I ask it of you," he went
on, more gravely, as Leo was about to resist. "If you really think you
have given me ground for offence, I ask this favour of you as the price
of our reconciliation."

Leo drooped his head. He gave up all resistance now. "So you will not
say good-bye to my mother yourself?" he asked, after a pause. "That
will grieve her."

A very bitter smile played about Waldemar's lips as he replied, "She
will be able to bear it. Good-bye, Leo. I am glad at least to have seen
you again."

The young Prince looked for one instant into his brother's face, then,
with a sudden rush of feeling, he threw his arms round his neck.
Waldemar submitted to the embrace in silence; but he did not respond to
it, though it was the first demonstration of the kind between the two.

"Good-bye," said Leo, somewhat chilled, and letting his arms fall to
his sides again.

A few minutes later the carriage which had brought young Baratowski
rolled out of the courtyard again, and Waldemar returned to the room
they had just left. Any one seeing him now--seeing how his lips
twitched convulsively, how his features were drawn in a tension
of pain, how fixed and full of misery was his look--would have
discerned the real state of the case, have understood why the cold,
self-possessed tone he had maintained throughout the interview had been
adopted. His pride, which had received so mortal a wound, had roused
itself to action once more. Leo must not see that he was suffering,
must on no account take back that report to C----. But now such
self-control was no longer needed; now the wounds bled afresh. Strong
and violent, as was his whole character, had been Waldemar's love, the
first tender emotion that had sprung up in the heart of the desolate,
uncultured youth. He had loved Wanda with all the glow of passion, but
also with the reverent worship of a first pure affection; and if the
discovery that he had been trifled with and scoffed at did not
altogether ruin him, that hour in which his boyish ideal was shattered
and destroyed took from him much that makes life desirable--took from
him his youth and his trust in his fellow-men.





                            PART THE SECOND.




                               CHAPTER I.


Castle Wilicza, which gave its name to all the lands appertaining to
it, formed, as has already been mentioned, the central point of a great
agglomeration of estates situated near the frontier. Rarely indeed does
so extensive a property come into the hands of one man; still more
rarely does it happen that the owner shows so little interest in his
possessions as was here the case. Judicious, systematic management had
ever been wanting to the Wilicza domain. The late master, Nordeck, had
been a speculator, and had acquired his fortune by a speculator's
talents; he could play the part of a great landed proprietor neither as
regards a practical nor a social point of view, and was not long in
discovering that he was well-nigh at the mercy of his agents. He at
once rid himself of all care for the separate outlying estates by
letting them off, and they were still held by the various tenants who
had leased them. Wilicza itself, his own residence, was excepted from
the rule, and given over to the administration of a steward.

The chief wealth of the property consisted, however, in the extensive
forests, which covered nearly two-thirds of the domain, and required
for their inspection a perfect army of foresters and rangers. They
formed a distinct branch of the administration, and were the principal
source of those vast revenues which yearly flowed into the proprietor's
coffers.

At Nordeck's death, the guardian of the infant heir, stepping into his
friend's shoes, suffered all existing arrangements to remain
undisturbed, partly out of a pious regard to the dead man's wishes,
partly because such a course seemed to him advisable in the interest
of the property. Herr Witold managed the Altenhof estate extremely
well--it was on a scale small enough for him to take the entire
direction of it into his own hands; but to the grander ratio of Wilicza
affairs the Squire showed himself altogether unequal--he had neither
measure nor grasp for them. He thought he had done his duty to the
uttermost when he had gone as carefully as possible through the
accounts and vouchers submitted to him, which he was necessarily
obliged to take on trust--when he had conscientiously invested the
incoming funds with a due regard to his ward's interests; and, for the
rest, he relied on the agents, who were allowed to act in everything
according to their own good will and pleasure. This sort of management
would have ruined most landowners, but it could not make any very
formidable breach in the Nordeck fortune; for, if hundreds were lost
here and there, thousands and tens of thousands remained behind, and
the enormous revenues of the domain, of which at present the young heir
could only enjoy a very limited fraction, not only covered every chance
deficit, but went continually to swell the capital. That the estates
produced less than by skilful hands they might have been made to
produce, was incontestable; but the guardian cared little for that, and
young Nordeck even less.

The young man had gone to the University shortly after his coming of
age, and from thence he had set out on his travels. For years he had
not shown himself at Wilicza; he seemed to have no love for the place.

The Castle itself presented a striking contrast to most of the
noblemen's seats around, which, with few exceptions, hardly deserved
the name of castles, and whereof the decay and ruin were often not to
be hidden by a certain outward splendour maintained by their owners at
any cost. The exterior of Wilicza was such as became the old
seigneurial residence of many a prince and count during two centuries.
It dated from the country's brightest period, when the might of the
nobility still went hand in hand with its wealth, when its chateaux
were the scene of a luxury and magnificence hardly known in these our
days. The castle could not exactly be described as beautiful, and would
hardly have found grace in the eyes of an artist. The taste which gave
it being was undeniably of a rude order; but it was imposing by its
massive structure and by the grandeur of its design. In spite of all
the changes it had undergone in the course of years, it still retained
its old original character; and the great edifice, with its long rows
of windows, its broad expanse of lawn, and vast, finely wooded park,
stood out, somewhat sombre perhaps, but grand and majestic, from the
circle of magnificent forests which surrounded it.

After the death of the late owner, the castle had stood for many years
empty and deserted. At very rare intervals the young heir came in
company of his guardian, but he never stayed more than a few weeks at a
time. The desolate solitude of the place vanished, however, when its
former mistress, the present widowed Princess Baratowska, returned to
take up her abode at Wilicza. The apartments, which had been so long
shut up, were thrown open once more, and the costly decorations and
furniture with which Nordeck had fitted up the different suites of
rooms on the occasion of his marriage, were renewed and restored to all
their pristine splendour. The present proprietor had assigned to his
mother's use the income arising from the Castle lands--a sum
inconsiderable to him, yet sufficient to secure to the Princess and her
younger son means 'suitable to their position,' however broad an
interpretation she might choose to put on the words. She made full use
of the funds at her disposal, and her surroundings and manner of life
were ordered on the same scale as in past times, when the young
Countess Morynska came to rule as mistress in Wilicza, and her husband
still loved to parade his wealth before her and her relations.

It was the beginning of October. The autumnal wind was sharp already as
it swept over the forests, where the foliage was gradually changing its
tints, and the sun often fought its way with difficulty through the
thick mists which enveloped the landscape. To-day again the veil had
only lifted towards noon, but now the sun shone brightly into the
_salon_ which communicated with the Princess's study, and in which she
usually sat. It was a large apartment, lofty and somewhat gloomy, like
all the rooms in the Castle, with deep window-niches and a spacious
chimney-place, where, as a protection against the chills of autumn, a
fire was sparkling. The heavy dark-green curtains were thrown far back,
and the full daylight streaming in displayed the solid handsome
furniture, in all which the same dark-green hue predominated.

The only occupants of the room at the present moment were Count
Morynski and the Princess. The Count often came over with his daughter
from Rakowicz, and would spend days, even weeks, with his sister. On
this occasion he had arrived on a long visit. The years which had
passed over his head had left visible traces--his hair had grown
greyer, and there were more lines imprinted on his forehead--but the
expression of that grave, characteristic face remained unaltered. In
the Princess, on the other hand, there was hardly any change. The
features of this still beautiful woman were as cold and proud, her
bearing as haughty, as in the old days. Although at the expiration of
the year she had laid aside her deep widow's mourning, she yet
constantly dressed in black; and her dark, though exceedingly rich,
attire set off her tall figure to full advantage. She was now engaged
in an animated conversation with her brother.

"I do not understand why the news should surprise you," said she. "We
must both of us have been prepared for it for some time. To me, at
least, it has always been a matter for wonder that Waldemar should
remain so long and so persistently absent from his estates."

"That is just what causes my surprise," said the Count. "He has avoided
Wilicza hitherto in the most evident manner. Why should he come now so
suddenly, without any previous intimation of his plan? What can he want
here?"

"What should he want but to hunt and shoot?" replied the Princess. "You
know he has inherited from his father a passion for sport. I am
convinced that he only chose the University of J---- because it lies in
a well-wooded country; and that, instead of attending the lectures, he
roamed about all day with his gun and bag. It will have been the same,
no doubt, on his travels. It is certain that he thinks of, and cares
for, nothing but sport."

"He could not come at a worse time," said Morynski. "Just now
everything depends upon your remaining complete mistress here. Rakowicz
lies too far from the frontier. We are watched on all sides, hemmed in
by all manner of difficulties. It is absolutely necessary we should
keep Wilicza in our hands."

"I know it," said the Princess, "and I will take care so to keep it.
You are right, the visit comes at a most inopportune moment; but I
cannot prevent my son from visiting his own estates when he thinks
proper. We must be very prudent."

The Count waved his hand impatiently.

"Prudence alone will not suffice. We ought simply to give up the whole
business while Waldemar stays at the Castle, and that is impossible."

"It is not necessary either, for he will be little enough at the
Castle, or I am mistaken in the charm which our forests must exercise
over such a son of Nimrod. With Nordeck this passion for sport became
at last a perfect mania, and Waldemar is exactly like his father in
this respect. We shall not see much of him; he will be out all day in
the forests, and will, assuredly, pay no attention to what is going on
at Wilicza. The only thing here which can have any interest for him is
the great collection of guns in the armoury, and that we will willingly
leave to him."

There was a sort of half-contemptuous raillery in her words; but the
Count's voice was grave and a little doubtful as he answered--

"Four years have gone by since you saw Waldemar. You could do what you
liked with him then, it is true, though at first I greatly doubted your
power over him. It is to be hoped you will succeed as well now."

"I think it likely," returned the Princess, with calm assurance.
"Besides, he is really not so difficult to manage as you imagine. His
stubborn self-will furnishes the very best hold over him. You have only
to give way to his rough violence in the first moment, and maintain him
in the implicit belief that his will is to be respected, come what may,
and you have him altogether in your hands. If we tell him every day
that he is sole and unrestricted master of Wilicza, it will not occur
to him to wish to be so in reality. I do not credit him with sufficient
intelligence for any very deep interest in the state of affairs on his
estates. We may make our minds easy."

"I must depend altogether on your judgment in the matter," said
Morynski. "I myself have only seen him twice. When did you receive the
letter?"

"This morning, about an hour before you arrived. According to it, we
may expect Waldemar any day; he was already on his road hither. He
writes in his usual laconic way, giving no details. You know that our
correspondence has never been remarkable for prolixity. We have never
communicated to each other more details than were necessary."

The Count looked down thoughtfully. "Does he come alone?"

"With his former tutor, who is his constant companion. I thought at
first the man might prove useful, that we might gain from him some
fuller accounts of Waldemar's doings and manner of life at the
University, but I was mistaken. Of course, my son's studies served
me as a pretext for seeking information from him, and I received in
reply nothing but learned dissertations on the subject of those
studies, not a word of what I wanted to know. My questions did not
appear to be understood, so at last I broke off the fruitless
correspondence--otherwise, this Dr. Fabian is one of the most harmless
creatures in the world. We have nothing to apprehend from his presence,
and certainly nothing from his influence, for he possesses none."

"It is Waldemar who principally concerns us," said the Count. "If you
think there will be no inconvenient watchfulness in that quarter ..."

"At all events, there will be none keener than that which we have had
to endure day by day for months together," interrupted his sister. "I
should think the steward must have taught us caution by this time."

"Yes, that Frank and his household are acting as so many spies upon
us," exclaimed Morynski, hotly. "I wonder, Hedwiga, you have never been
able to rid us of that troublesome personage."

The Princess smiled in her superior wisdom.

"Compose yourself, Bronislaus. The steward will very shortly give in
his resignation. I could not proceed against him earlier. He has been
twenty years at his post, and has always acquitted himself of his
duties in an irreproachable manner. I had no grounds for requiring his
dismissal. I preferred to manage so that he should give notice himself,
which he did yesterday--only by word of mouth, so far, and to me; but
the formal announcement of it will follow ere long. I attach much
importance to its coming from _him_, particularly now that a visit from
Waldemar is impending."

The Count's features, which during the whole interview had evinced
unmistakable anxiety, gradually relaxed into calm.

"It was high time," said he, with evident satisfaction; "that Frank was
growing to be a real danger. Unfortunately, we must still put up with
him for a time. His contract stipulates for a notice of several
months."

"It does; but the clause will not be insisted on. The steward has long
been independent of his situation; it is even said he means to buy a
place of his own. Besides this, he is a man of high spirit; one scene
that hurt his pride, and he would go at once. I give you my word for
it! That will not be difficult to obtain, now that he has once decided
upon going. What, Leo, back from your walk already?"

The last words were addressed to the young Prince, who at that moment
entered the room and came up to them.

"Wanda would not stay in the park any longer," he answered. "I was
coming ... But perhaps I am interrupting a consultation?"

Count Morynski rose. "We have finished. I have just heard of your
brother's expected arrival, and we were discussing the consequences,
one of which will be that our present visit must be shortened. We shall
remain to-morrow for the _fête_, but return next day to Rakowicz before
Waldemar makes his appearance. He ought not, on coming home, to find us
here as guests of his house."

"Why not?" asked the Princess, coolly. "On account of that old childish
folly, do you mean? Pooh! who gives it a thought now? Certainly not
Wanda! And Waldemar--well, in four years he has had time to get over
the imagined insult! That his heart was not deeply involved in the
matter we know through Leo, to whom but a week afterwards he declared
that he had forgotten the whole affair. Our sojourn at Wilicza, too, is
proof enough that he no longer attaches any importance to it. I
consider it will be most judicious and show the best tact for us to
ignore the matter altogether. If Wanda meets him without any
embarrassment, in a cousinly way, he will hardly remember that he once
cherished a romantic feeling for her."

"Perhaps it would be wisest," said the Count, as he turned to go. "At
all events, I will talk it over with Wanda."

Leo, contrary to his habit, had taken no part in the conversation; and
now that his uncle had left the room, he sat down in his place without
speaking. He had looked agitated on his entrance, and there were still
signs in his face of a perturbation he strove in vain to hide. His
mother, at least, had remarked it at once.

"Your intended walk was soon over," she said, nonchalantly. "Where is
Wanda?"

"In her room--or so I suppose."

"You suppose only? There has been a quarrel between you again, I
conclude. Do not attempt to deny it, Leo. Your face tells the tale
plainly enough; and, moreover, I know you never leave Wanda's side
unless she drives you away from her."

"Yes, she often seems to find a peculiar pleasure in driving me from
her," said Leo, with unfeigned bitterness.

"And you often torment her by your unfounded jealousy of every one who
approaches her. I am convinced that has been the cause of your
disagreement today."

The young Prince was silent, thereby confirming his mother's
supposition. She went on a little satirically, "It is the old story: a
love uncrossed makes sorrows for itself. You have the rare good fortune
to be able to follow the impulse of your hearts without impediment,
with the full approval of your parents, and now you make your lives
uncomfortable in this manner. I will not attempt to exonerate Wanda
from her share of the blame. I am not blind to her advantages, which
grow more and more striking now that she has laid aside her childish
ways; but what I feared from the first day I gave her back to her
father has unfortunately come to pass. With his unbounded tenderness,
his adoration, he has prepared a hard task for you and me. Wanda knows
no will but her own. She is accustomed to have her way in everything;
and you, I regret to say, do not teach her that others can be firm as
well as she."

"I assure you, mother, I was not very yielding to Wanda to-day,"
replied Leo, in a voice still vibrating with anger.

The Princess shrugged her shoulders. "Perhaps not to-day; but to-morrow
you will be on your knees before her, begging her pardon. She has
invariably brought you to it. How often must I explain to you that that
is not the way to inspire a proud and wilful girl with the respect to
which the future husband should lay claim!"

"But I am not capable of such cool calculation," cried Leo,
passionately. "When I love, when I worship a woman with all my soul, I
cannot for ever be thinking whether my conduct towards her is such as
befits the future husband."

"Do not complain then if your passion is not returned in the measure
you desire," said the Princess, coldly. "If I know anything of Wanda,
she will never love the man who bows to her authority, but rather him
who resists it. A nature such as hers should be forced into surrender,
and that you have never understood."

He turned away, muttering in his ill humour--

"After all, I have no right to Wanda's love. I have never been
permitted to make our engagement known. Our marriage is put off to some
distant, indefinite time ..."

"Because it is not now the moment to be thinking of betrothals and
weddings," interrupted his mother, with much decision and energy.
"Because there are other and graver tasks before you than that of
adoring a young wife who would banish everything else from your mind!
'Some distant, indefinite time!' when it is only a question of a year's
delay! First win your bride; the opportunity will not long be wanting,
and Wanda herself would never consent to marry you until you have
earned her favour. But this brings us to another subject, which I am
forced to touch upon. Leo, your uncle is not pleased with you."

"Has he been accusing me to you?" asked the young man, looking up with
a frown.

"He has, unfortunately, been forced to speak to me. Must I remind you
that to your superior in age, your relative and leader, you owe
unreserved obedience? Instead of obeying, however, you place new and
unnecessary difficulties in his path--put yourself at the head of a
band of young men, your own contemporaries, and offer him open
opposition. What does this mean?"

A look of stubborn defiance came into Leo's face, as he answered, "We
are no children to be led without a will of our own. If we are younger,
we have still a right to our opinion; and we are resolved not to bear
this eternal hesitation, these doubts and fears which hold us back."

"Do you suppose that my brother will allow himself to be drawn by young
Hotspurs such as you into a course he knows to be ruinous?" asked the
Princess, sharply. "You are much mistaken. It was hard work for him
before to keep all the clashing elements in check, and now he has the
vexation of seeing his own nephew set the example of disobedience."

"I only contested his decision, nothing more," said the young Prince,
defending himself. "I love and honour Morynski as your brother, still
more as Wanda's father; but it wounds me that he will not admit my
right to independence. You yourself repeat to me continually that my
name and descent entitle me to the first place, and my uncle requires
me to be satisfied with a subordinate one."

"Because he dares not confide the direction of all-important matters to
a hot head of one and twenty. You misjudge your uncle altogether. He
has been denied an heir, and, idolise Wanda as he may, those hopes
which only a son can realise are concentrated on you--you who are so
closely connected with him by ties of blood, and who will shortly be to
him indeed a son. If, for the present, he thinks it necessary to
restrain your ardour, for the future he counts upon your fresh young
strength, when his own shall begin to fail. I have his word that, when
the decisive moment arrives, Prince Leo Baratowski shall assume the
position which is his due. We both hope you will show yourself worthy
of it."

"Do you doubt it?" cried Leo, springing up with flashing eyes.

His mother laid her hand soothingly on his arm. "Most assuredly we do
not doubt your courage. What you lack is reflection, and I fear you
will never learn it, for you have your father's temperament. Baratowski
would blaze out as you do, without considering obstacles, or staying to
inquire whether things were possible, and often enough has his
impetuosity brought trouble both on himself and me. But you are my son
as well, Leo, and I fancy you must have inherited something from your
mother also. I have answered for you to my brother. It will be for you
to redeem my surety."

Earnest as were her words, they breathed of such fond, motherly pride
that Leo threw his arms round her in a burst of loving emotion. The
Princess smiled. She was but rarely accessible to soft touches of
feeling; but at this moment all a mother's tenderness was in her look
and in her tone, as, returning her son's embrace, she said, "What _my_
hopes for your future are, my Leo, I need not now repeat to you; I have
told you again and again. You have ever been to me my all, my only
one."

"Your only one?" the young Prince reminded her a little reproachfully.
"You forget my brother?"

"Waldemar?" The Princess drew herself up. At mention of this name all
softness vanished from her features, all tenderness from her voice. Her
countenance was grave and severe as before, and her tone icy cold as
she went on, "Yes, truly, I had forgotten Waldemar. Fate has decreed
that he should be master of Wilicza. We shall have to endure him."




                              CHAPTER II.


At no great distance from the Castle stood the dwelling of Herr Frank,
the land-steward. The administration of the Wilicza estates had ever
been carried on distinct from the Castle, which, whether it were
inhabited or not, stood apart in stately seclusion, while the
management of the property was left exclusively in the hands of the
agent. The latter's handsome house, with its surrounding buildings and
offices, almost all newly erected, excited much admiration; and the
order reigning throughout the farm, so different from what was to be
seen on the neighbouring estates, was marvelled at, though not
imitated, by the whole country-side. The position of the Wilicza
steward was, indeed, one which many a landed proprietor might have
envied, both as regarded income and his manner of life.

It was growing dusk. Over at the Castle the long rows of windows on the
first story were being gradually illuminated; there was a grand
reception at the Princess's. In the agent's parlour no light had
as yet been kindled, and the two gentlemen sitting there were so
absorbed by their conversation that they did not appear to notice the
ever-increasing darkness.

The elder of these was a fine man of noble presence, still in the prime
of life, and with a frank and exceedingly sunburnt face. The younger,
on the other hand, bore in his whole appearance evident marks of town
breeding. In spite of his rather diminutive stature, he might be
considered a good-looking man. His carefully curled hair, and the
fashionable cut of his clothes, gave him somewhat of the air of a
dandy; but there was no affectation of this in his manner. On the
contrary, his speech and bearing were weighted with an excess of
dignity and importance which occasionally came into rather comic
contrast with his small person. "The thing is settled, I shall go!" the
elder man was saying. "I made known to the Princess the day before
yesterday that I intended doing her the pleasure of turning my back on
Wilicza, since to that her man[oe]uvres have long been tending. I got
no further in my disclosures, for she interrupted me in her majestic
way, 'My good Frank, I sincerely regret that you are wishing to leave
us; but I will place no obstacles in your path. Be persuaded that your
long and active service at Wilicza will be forgotten neither by my son
nor myself.' She said that to me--to me, whom she has systematically
hunted out! Do you think I could make head against that look and tone?
I had intended to relieve my mind at length by telling her the whole
truth, as a parting compliment; but at this--I made my bow and went."

The younger man shook his head. "A remarkable woman, but a most
dangerous one! We Government men have proofs of it. I tell you, Herr
Frank, that Princess Baratowska is a source of danger to the whole
province."

"Stuff and nonsense!" said the agent, irritably; "but she is a source
of danger to Wilicza. She has contrived now to get the whole property
under her dominion. I was the last stumbling-block in her way; and, at
last, she is ridding herself of me. You may believe me, Herr Assessor,
when I say I have held out as long as I possibly could; not for the
sake of the post--thank God, I am sufficiently before the world to
stand on my own feet any day--but I don't like to think of all I have
worked for and accomplished these last twenty years going to the dogs
now because the old Polish management is to the fore again. When I came
to the place, Herr Nordeck had been dead a few years, his son was
living with his guardian at Altenhof, and farmers, foresters, and
agents were working the concern merrily as best suited themselves. Here
at Wilicza things were worst of all. My predecessor had robbed so
openly and audaciously that it grew too strong even for Herr Witold,
who, one fine day, dismissed him summarily. The Castle, the
magnificence of which was talked of far and wide, stood shut up and
deserted. Of the state of things in the village and on the farms about,
I can give you no idea. Miserable wood and clay huts tumbling down over
one's head, dirt and disorder whichever way one turned; the lower
orders cringing, false, and full of pious national hatred to the
'German'; the fields in a condition to make a good farmer's heart sick
within him. There was need, truly, of a pair of strong fists to the
rescue. It was a good six months before I could send for my wife and
children, because, outside the Castle, there was not what to our
notions would seem a single habitable house to be found anywhere about.
How could it be otherwise? The deceased Nordeck had never done anything
but hunt and shoot, and quarrel with his wife, and Herr Witold did
nothing at all. There were a few rows regularly each time he came; but,
in general, he let himself be led by the nose, and that was pretty well
known throughout the place. If the accounts were down on paper in black
and white, and the figures added up right, then all was as it should
be; whether the expenditure were real or fictitious, he never troubled
himself to inquire. What sums I had to ask for at first to bring the
concern into anything like order! They were granted me without delay or
difficulty; and the fact that I really employed them on the estate,
instead of putting them into my own pockets like my worthy colleagues,
was a mere hazard. Mine was an exceptional case. But the old gentleman
had some glimmering of the fact that I was the only honest man of the
whole set, for at the end of the first year he raised my salary and
commission, so that I, with my honesty, fared just as well as the
others with their thieving; and if he had lived, I should never have
left Wilicza, in spite of the Princess's intrigues. She was too wise to
attack me in those days. She knew I had only to write to Altenhof and
put Heir Witold up to what was going on, and there would have been an
explosion. He had still influence enough over his adopted son to
procure me liberty of action. During his lifetime I was left in peace;
but when he died, all that was over. What good does it do me that my
contract guarantees me a free and independent position? When these
continual encroachments proceed from the Castle itself and are
authorised by the owner's mother, there is nothing for me but either to
bear them, or to go. I have borne them long enough, and now I shall
go."

"But it is a real misfortune for Wilicza!" struck in the Assessor. "You
were the only one who ventured in some degree to resist the Princess,
whose sharp eyes inspired a wholesome fear. If you go, they will have
full scope for all their secret machinations. We Government men"--he
each time laid great stress on these words--"best know what will be the
consequences if the Nordeck estates, with all their vast extent and
confounded proximity to the frontier, come under the rule of a
Baratowska."

"Yes, she has made good progress in the space of four years," said the
steward, bitterly. "She set to work on the very first day, and has
continued slowly, but surely, advancing always towards her aim with an
energy one cannot but admire. When some time ago the farm leases
expired, she contrived that they should all be taken up by men of her
own nationality. They applied for and acquired them. Herr Nordeck
probably never knew that there were any other applicants. From the
administration of the woods and forests every German element has been
gradually expelled. The whole staff is now composed of obedient
partisans of the Princess. How often I have had to interfere in the
most energetic manner, in my endeavour to keep my German inspectors and
overseers in their situations! It grew to be of no use at last. They
went of their own free will, tired out by the refractoriness of the
people; and we are pretty well aware who urged and incited the
underlings on to resist. I think I know my successor in office. He is a
drunken lout who understands as good as nothing of agricultural
economy, and who will altogether ruin Wilicza, just as the tenants and
foresters are busy ruining the other estates and the woodlands; but he
is a National of the purest water, and that is enough for the Princess.
He is sure of the post."

"If Herr Nordeck would only make up his mind to come!" said the
Assessor. "He has no suspicion, I dare say, of what is going on here on
his property."

Frank shrugged his shoulders. "The young master? As if he ever troubled
his head about Wilicza! He has never set foot in it for the last ten
years; he likes roaming about the world better. I hoped that, on
reaching his majority, he would come here for some length of time, and
there was some talk of it at first; but he stayed away, and sent us
instead his lady mother, who lost no time in assuming the reins of
government. None of the officials are in direct communication with him.
We send in all our accounts, make our payments, and address all our
statements and demands to the magistrate at L----. Besides, before I
decided to go, I tried my last resource, and wrote to Herr Nordeck
myself. I knew that my position was untenable; but I thought it my
duty, after twenty years' service, to make him acquainted with the
doings here, and to tell him frankly that, if matters went on so, not
even his fortune would be able to stand it. I sent the letter off a
month ago, and--would you believe it?--I have never had an answer. No,
from that quarter there is nothing to hope.--But with all this worry, I
am forgetting that we are sitting in the dark. I can't think why
Gretchen does not bring in the lamp as usual. She probably does not
know you are here."

"Yes, she does," said the Assessor, in a tone of pique. "Fräulein
Margaret was in the hall when I drove up; but she did not give me time
to speak to her. She ran upstairs as fast as she could, right up to the
garret."

Frank looked a little embarrassed.

"No, no, you must have been mistaken."

"Right up to the garret," repeated the little gentleman, emphatically,
raising his eyebrows and looking fixedly at the steward, as though
calling on him to join in his indignation; but Frank only laughed.

"I am sorry for it; but with the best will in the world, I can't help
you."

"You can help me very much," cried the Assessor, warmly. "A father's
authority is unbounded, and if you were to say to your daughter that it
was your will and desire ..."

"That I will never do," interrupted Frank, with quiet decision. "You
know that I place no obstacle in the way of your suit. I believe you
have a sincere affection for my daughter, and I have no objection to
make to you either personally or as regards your circumstances; but to
obtain the girl's consent is your business. I shall not meddle with
that. If she, of her own accord, thinks fit to say yes, you'll be
welcome to me as a son-in-law; but I must say there seems to me little
chance of it."

"You are wrong, Herr Frank," said the Assessor, confidently. "You are
most decidedly wrong. True, Fräulein Margaret sometimes treats me
rather strangely--inconsiderately, I may say; but that is nothing but
the usual bashfulness of young girls. They like to be sought and won,
like to hold back, so as to make the prize of greater value. I
understand them perfectly. Make your mind easy. I shall certainly
succeed."

"I shall be glad of it," replied the agent, breaking off shortly as the
object of their conversation came into the room, carrying the lamp in
her hand.

Gretchen Frank might be about twenty. She was no delicate, ideal
beauty, but a true living picture of youth and health. There was
something of her father's stately vigour about her; and, as the bright
rays from the lamp fell on her fresh rosy face, with its clear blue
eyes and fair crown of plaits, she looked so charming that it was easy
to understand how the Assessor at once forgot that flight to the
garret, and sprang to his feet in a violent hurry in order to greet the
maiden.

"Good evening, Herr Assessor," said she, returning his greeting
somewhat coolly. "So it was you who drove into the courtyard just now.
I certainly did not expect that, as you were here only last Sunday."

The Assessor thought proper not to notice the last words. "Official
business brings me here this time," he replied; "an affair of great
importance which has been entrusted to me, and will detain me in this
neighbourhood for some days. I have taken the liberty of making a claim
on your father's hospitality. We Government men are having a bad time
of it just now, Fräulein Margaret. There is a sort of dull ferment
abroad everywhere, secret machinations, revolutionary tendencies! The
whole province is one nest of conspirators."

"You hardly need tell us that," said the agent, drily. "I think we are
at the fountain head for such news here at Wilicza."

"Yes, this Wilicza is the real centre of all their plots and
intrigues," cried the Assessor, warmly. "They dare not play their game
so openly at Rakowicz. It is too near L----, and is enclosed on all
sides by German settlements. That somewhat shackles the noble Count
Morynski; here, on the other hand, he has free elbow-room."

"And the most favourable ground to work on," added Frank; "the Nordeck
domain extending to the very frontier, and all the foresters, rangers,
and inspectors at the beck and call of the Princess! You would say such
a sharp look-out is kept that not a cat could get across without its
being known; and yet every night of our lives there is passing to and
fro, and all who come from out yonder find open doors at Wilicza,
though, to be sure, for the present they are only the back doors."

"We know it all, Herr Frank," asserted the Assessor, with a look
which betokened omniscience, to say the least. "All, I tell you; but we
can do nothing, for proofs are wanting. We can discover absolutely
nothing. At the approach of one of our people the whole busy hive
vanishes--sinks, so to speak, into the earth. My present mission is
connected with these doings; and as you have the superintendence of the
police here, I shall in some measure have to rely on you for help."

"If I must, I must; but you know how unwillingly I lend my hand to such
services--though over at the Castle they insist upon it that I am a spy
and a detective, because I will not deliberately close my eyes, and
when the people turn refractory I proceed against them with all
severity."

"But you must. There are two dangerous persons wandering about this
neighbourhood under all manner of pretexts, who must be placed in safe
custody if possible. I am on their traces already. On my road hither I
met two most suspicious-looking individuals. They were on foot."

Gretchen laughed out. "Is that a reason for suspecting them? Perhaps
they had no money to pay the post."

"I beg your pardon, Fräulein. They had even money enough for a private
post-chaise, for they had passed me in one previously; but at the last
station they left the carriage, and made all sorts of the most minute
inquiries about Wilicza. They declined the proffered guide, and
continued their journey on foot, avoiding the main road, and striking
off straight across the fields. They could give no account of
themselves to the post-master. I, unfortunately, did not reach the
station until after they had left it, and as dusk was coming on apace,
all further investigations were at an end for to-day; but to-morrow I
intend to set about them in earnest. The two men must still be lurking
somewhere in the neighbourhood."

"Perhaps over there, even," said Gretchen, pointing in the direction of
the Castle, with its long rows of illuminated windows shining across
through the darkness. "There is a great meeting of conspirators this
evening at the Princess's."

The Assessor started up. "Meeting of conspirators? How? Do you know it
for a certainty? I will surprise them, I will ..."

The steward pushed him laughingly down into his seat again. "Don't let
yourself be taken in. It is only an absurd notion of the girl's own,
nothing more."

"But, papa, you yourself said not long ago that there are good and
special reasons for all the gaieties which are going on at the Castle,"
interposed Gretchen.

"I certainly am of that opinion. Much as the Princess may love show and
splendour, I am convinced that at a time like the present she can have
no real heart for such festive doings. These great hunting parties and
balls are the simplest, the most convenient pretext for calling all
Wilicza together without exciting surprise or remark. They dine and
dance, no doubt. Appearances have to be kept up--but most of the guests
remain all night at the Castle, and that which goes on when the great
chandeliers are put out is perhaps of not quite so innocent a nature."

The Assessor listened breathlessly to a discussion which for him was
fraught with the profoundest interest. Unfortunately it was interrupted
at this point, the steward's attention being called off. News was
brought him that his own very valuable riding horse had been seized by
an attack of illness which seemed likely to take a serious turn. Frank
went himself to look after the animal, leaving the two young people
alone.

Fräulein Margaret was evidently put out by this unexpected
_tête-à-tête_ with the Assessor, to whom, on the other hand, it
appeared highly acceptable. He twisted his moustaches, passed his white
hands through his carefully curled hair, and resolved upon making the
most of so favourable an opportunity.

"Herr Frank has been telling me that he intends to give up his post
here," he began. "The thought that he and his were about leaving
Wilicza would, under other circumstances, have been a heavy blow to
me--would have come upon me, so to speak, like a thunderclap; but as I
myself am not likely to remain very long in L---- ..."

"Are you going away?" asked the girl, in surprise.

The Assessor smiled self-consciously. "You know, Fräulein Margaret,
that to us officials promotion generally means a change of place, and I
hope soon to advance in my career."

"Really?"

"Undoubtedly. I am already Government Assessor, and in a state like
ours that is saying sufficient. It is in some sort the first rung of
the great official ladder which leads straight up to the Minister's
seat."

"Well, you have got a long way to go," said Gretchen, rather
distrustfully.

The little gentleman leaned back with an air of dignity, as though the
cane chair on which he was seated were already the before-named stool
of office.

"Such an eminence is not, it is true, attained in a day; but for the
future ... one should always keep great things in view, Fräulein,
always propose to one's self the highest aims. Ambition is the
placeman's spur. As for myself, I daily expect to be raised to the rank
of Counsellor."[2]

"But you have been expecting that a long time," said the young girl.

"Because envy and malevolence are constantly blocking the path," cried
the Assessor, with a burst of wounded feeling. "We younger officials
are kept down by our superiors as long as we possibly can be. Hitherto
I have had no opportunity of distinguishing myself, but at last they
have seen the necessity of confiding to me a mission of importance. His
Excellency the President himself gave the necessary instructions, and
charged me to make a personal report to him of the result of my
researches. If things go well, I am sure of the Counsellorship."

He looked so significantly at the young lady, as he uttered these last
words, that she could entertain no doubt as to who would be the future
Counsellor's bride-elect. Notwithstanding this, she preserved an
obstinate silence.

"In that case a change of place would necessarily follow," continued
the Assessor. "I should in all probability remove to the capital. I
have influential connections there. You do not know the capital,
Fräulein ..." And thereupon he began to describe the city life and
amusements, to vaunt the influential relatives, skilfully contriving to
group all these advantages around himself as central figure. Gretchen
listened, half curious, half thoughtful. The brilliant pictures now
unrolled before her were seductive to the eyes of a young country-bred
maiden. She leaned her blonde head on her hand, and gazed meditatively
at the table-cover. Evidently, to her thinking, the drawback lay in
that unavoidable corollary of the present Assessor and future
Counsellor. The latter saw his advantage right well, however, and made
no delay in following it up. He prepared to open a full battery on the
besieged fort.

"But, in spite of all this, I shall feel lonely and desolate there," he
said, pathetically, "for I shall leave my heart behind, Fräulein
Margaret."

Gretchen grew frightened. She saw that the Assessor, who after
pronouncing her name had made a long dramatic pause, was now rising
from his chair with the unmistakable intention of falling on his knees
before her. The solemnity and ceremony with which he went through these
preliminaries to a love scene were, however, destined to prove fatal to
him. They gave the girl time for reflection. She sprang up in her turn.

"Excuse me one minute. I think--I think the house door has fallen to.
Papa won't be able to get in when he comes back. I must go and open
it!" and she rushed out of the room.

The Assessor stood with his dramatic pause, and knees half bent to do
her homage, the picture of consternation. It was the second time to-day
his chosen one had fled from him, and such bashfulness began to be
inconvenient. But it never occurred to him to think of a serious
resistance. She was acting from caprice, coquetry, perhaps even--the
suitor smiled--fear of his irresistible ascendancy. Evidently she dared
not say him nay, so took flight in charming confusion, postponing the
decisive moment. There was something exceedingly consoling to the
Assessor in this thought, and though he regretted having once more
failed to attain his object, he never doubted of his final victory. He
so thoroughly understood what he was about!

The pretext used by the young girl was not altogether a vain one. The
hall door, pushed by some careless hand, had really closed with a bang.
It is true that, at his return, the steward would only have had to call
from outside to one of the maids to have it opened; but his daughter
did not seem to think of this. She rushed through the adjoining room
out into the hall.

An exclamation of pain and one of alarm resounded in the same instant.
As Gretchen violently thrust open the door, a stranger, who at that
very moment had grasped the handle from outside, struck by the sudden
rebound, staggered back several paces and would have fallen, if some
one who was with him had not caught and supported him.

"Good gracious, what is it?" cried the girl.

"I beg your pardon a thousand times," said a timid voice in a tone of
great courtesy.

Gretchen looked up in surprise at the man who excused himself so
politely for having nearly been knocked down, while yet in the act of
raising himself to an upright posture. Before she had time for an
answer, the other stranger drew near and addressed himself to her.

"We wish to see Herr Frank. He is at home, we hear."

"Papa is not here just at this moment, but he will be back directly,"
replied Gretchen, to whom this late and unexpected visit came as a
great relief, offering her the means of escape from her difficulty.
Without it, she must either have committed the rudeness of leaving the
Assessor alone during her father's absence, or have been compelled to
stay with him to keep him company. Instead, therefore, of showing the
new-comers into the agent's study, as was customary, she led them
straightway into the sitting-room.

"Two gentlemen who wish to speak to papa," said she, by way of
explanation, to the astonished Assessor, who looked up and rose as the
strangers entered and bowed to him, while the girl, kindly offering to
let her father know, went out again for that purpose.

She had just sent off one of the maids, and was about to return to the
room, when, to her amazement, the Assessor appeared in the dimly
lighted hall, and inquired hastily whether Herr Frank had been sent
for. Gretchen answered in the affirmative.

The Assessor came up to her, and said in a whisper--

"Fräulein Margaret, those are the men."

"What men?" asked she, in surprise.

"The two suspicious characters. I have them. They are in the trap."

"But they are not Poles, not a bit of it," objected the girl.

"They are the two individuals who passed me in the post-chaise," he
replied, obstinately. "The same who, later on, behaved in a way
calculated to arouse suspicion. At all events, I shall take my
measures. I shall interrogate, and if necessary arrest them."

"But need it all be done in our house?" asked Gretchen, in a very
ungracious tone.

"The duty of my office requires it!" said the Assessor, with dignity.
"First of all, the entrance must be secured, to prevent any possible
attempt at flight. I shall lock the hall door." So saying, he turned
the key in the lock and drew it out.

"What are you thinking of?" protested Gretchen. "Papa won't be able to
get in when he comes back."

"We shall post the maid at the door, and give her the key," whispered
the little gentleman, who by this time was in a fever of official zeal.
"She will open when Herr Frank comes, and at the same time call in the
men to guard the door. Who knows whether the delinquents will surrender
easily?"

"But how do you know they are delinquents at all? Suppose you were to
make a mistake?"

"Fräulein Margaret, you have not the eye of a detective," declared the
Assessor, with conscious superiority. "I am a good physiognomist, and I
tell you I never yet saw two faces on which 'conspirator' was stamped
more legibly, more unmistakably. I am not to be deceived, however pure
their German may be. For the present, I will merely subject them to an
interrogation, until Herr Frank arrives. It is dangerous, no doubt, to
let such men get an inkling that they are found out--extremely
dangerous, particularly when one is alone with them; but duty demands
it!"

"I will go with you," said Gretchen, valiantly.

"Thank you," said the Assessor, as solemnly as though the girl had
resolved on going to the scaffold with him. "Thank you. Now let us
act."

He called the maid, gave her the required instructions, and then
returned to the parlour, Gretchen following him. She was naturally
courageous, and felt quite as much curiosity as uneasiness about the
issue. The two strangers had evidently not the smallest notion of the
storm about to burst over their heads. They imagined themselves in
perfect security. The younger of the two, who was a remarkably tall
man, towering more than a head above his companion, was pacing the room
with folded arms, while the elder, a person of slight build, with pale
but agreeable features, had obediently taken the place offered him, and
was sitting harmlessly enough in the armchair.

The Assessor assumed an air of authority. Convinced of the importance
of the moment, and conscious that the eyes of his beloved were upon
him, he rose to the measure of his task. He looked the judicial mind
personified, as he stepped up to the two 'individuals.'

"I have not yet introduced myself to you, gentlemen," he began,
courteous as yet. "Government Assessor Hubert, of L----."

The persons addressed could have been no novices in the art of
conspiracy, for they did not even change colour at the mention of his
official quality. The elder man rose, bowed in silence, but with much
politeness, and then sat down again. The younger merely inclined his
head slightly, and said in a careless tone, "Very happy, I'm sure.

"Might I in my turn inquire the names of these gentlemen?" continued
Hubert.

"What makes you ask?" said the younger stranger, indifferently.

"I wish to know them."

"I am sorry for that. We don't wish to tell."

The Assessor nodded as much as to say: "So I thought." "I am connected
with the police department of L----," he said, significantly.

"Very agreeable position," said the stranger, his eyes just glancing at
the official with an indifference positively offensive, and then
wandering off and fixing themselves on the young girl, who had
retreated to the window.

For a moment Hubert was disconcerted. They must indeed be case-hardened
conspirators! Even the mention of the L---- police could extract from
them no sign of alarm, though by this time some inkling of their fate
must have dawned upon them. But there were means of overcoming their
obduracy. The interrogation proceeded.

"About two hours ago you passed me in a post-chaise?"

This time the younger man made no answer. He seemed to have had enough
of the conversation; but the elder replied civilly, "Certainly, we
noticed you in your carriage."

"At the last station you left the post-chaise and continued your
journey on foot. You were, according to your own statement, bound for
Wilicza--you avoided the high-road, and took a side-path across the
fields." The Assessor was sternly judicial now again, as he hurled out
these accusations one after the other, in a manner which ought to have
been crushing, and which did indeed produce some effect. The elder of
the two conspirators showed signs of uneasiness, and the younger, on
whom the lynx eye of the official had at once fixed as the more
dangerous of the pair, went up quickly to his companion, and laid his
hand protectingly as it were on the back of his chair.

"We put on our coats, too, when it began to get cool, and left a pair
of gloves at the post-house by mistake," said the latter, with
unconcealed irony. "Perhaps you would like to add these two facts to
your interesting notes on our conduct and deportment."

"Sir, that is not a tone in which to address a representative of the
Government," exclaimed Hubert, angrily.

The stranger shrugged his shoulders and turned to the window.

"You leave us quite to ourselves, Fräulein. Will you not come out and
deliver us by your presence from this gentleman's unrefreshing
discourse?"

The Assessor was seized with a just wrath; such boldness was more than
he could bear. The steward might come in at any moment now, he knew, so
he threw to the winds his previous caution, and replied in a lofty
tone--

"I fear there is much before you that you will find unrefreshing. In
the first place you will give me your names, deliver up your papers. I
require it, I insist upon it. In a word, you are suspicious
characters."

That blow told. The pale gentleman started up with every appearance of
trepidation. "Good Heavens, what do you say!"

"Ah, so the consciousness of guilt makes itself felt at last, does it?"
said Hubert, triumphantly. "You winced yourself," he asserted, turning
to the other, and looking up at him with an authoritative air. "Do not
attempt to deny it. I saw your face twitch."

The young man's face had twitched, no doubt, in the most singular
manner at mention of the words "suspicious characters;" and now, as he
bent down to his companion, the corners of his mouth worked quite
perceptibly.

"Why do you not clear up the matter?" asked his friend, in a low
beseeching tone.

"Because it amuses me," was the reply, returned in a voice as low.

"No whispering here," interrupted the Assessor. "No fresh conspiring in
my very presence--that I forbid. Once again, your name! Will you give
me an answer?"

"Yes, we will," said the younger stranger, drawing himself up. "So you
look upon us as conspirators?"

"And traitors to the State," added Hubert, emphatically.

"And traitors to the State. Of course--that is the usual complement."

The Assessor stood petrified at such audacity.

"I call upon you for the last time to give me your names and deliver up
your papers," he cried. "You refuse to do either?"

The stranger sat down unconcernedly on the arm of the chair, and
crossed his arms.

"Quite correct. The whole conspiracy lies in a nutshell."

"Sir, I believe that you are inclined to jest with me," shouted the
Assessor, scarlet with rage. "Are you aware that that will tell very
much against your case? The police department of L---- ..."

"Must be in a bad way if it has you for a representative," observed the
young man, with imperturbable calm.

This was too much. The insulted official sprang up like one possessed.

"Unheard-of insolence! What, have things gone so far that the
authorities are now to be openly scoffed at and treated with contempt?
But you shall pay dearly for it! You have insulted and attacked the
Government in my person. I arrest you. I will have you handcuffed and
conveyed to L----."

He rushed at his adversary, who quietly let him come on, and then with
a single movement of his powerful arm sent him back, bounding like a
ball on to the sofa near at hand, which happily received him.

"Violence!" he screamed, "violence! an attack upon my person. Fräulein
Margaret, fetch your father."

"Fetch a glass of water, Fräulein, and dash it over the gentleman's
head," said the stranger. "He needs it."

The girl had no time to obey either of these very different
injunctions, for hasty steps were heard in the adjoining room, and the
steward, who had seen with extreme surprise the precautionary measures
adopted in his hall, and had heard the loud voices, came quickly in.

The Assessor still lay on the sofa, wriggling and kicking in his
struggle to get on his legs again, which, in consequence of the
shortness of those members and the height whereon he was perched, was a
feat difficult to accomplish.

"Herr Frank," he cried, "guard the entrance, call in the men. You have
the direction of the Wilicza police--you must support me. I arrest
these two persons in the name of ..."

Here his voice deserted him; he fought desperately in the air, and at
last, by a violent jerk, managed to get himself into a sitting posture.

The younger stranger had risen and gone up to the steward. "Herr Frank,
you hold the direction of the Wilicza police as proxy for me, and you
will, I trust, reflect before delivering up your own principal."

"Who?" cried the steward, starting back.

The stranger drew a paper from his breast-pocket and held it out to
him. "I come quite unexpectedly, and after ten years you can hardly be
expected to recognise me, so this letter may serve for my credentials.
You addressed it to me a few weeks since."

Frank cast a rapid glance at the page, and another as rapid at the
features of the man before him. "Herr Nordeck?"

That gentleman assented. "Waldemar Nordeck, who in the very hour of his
return to his own estates has come near being arrested as a suspicious
vagrant. A most agreeable welcome, certainly."

He looked across at the sofa. There sat the Assessor, stiff and
motionless as a statue, with mouth wide open, arms pendant, staring at
the young landowner as though he were out of his mind.

"What a painful misunderstanding!" said the steward, in great
confusion. "I am very sorry it should have happened in my house, Herr
Nordeck. The Assessor will regret his mistake exceedingly ..."

The poor Assessor! He was so crushed, he had not even strength to
apologise. The master of Wilicza, the man of many millions, of whom
the President had lately spoken, saying that, should he come to
Wilicza, he was to be treated with special consideration--and he, the
subordinate, had threatened to have this personage conveyed handcuffed
to L----! Fortunately Waldemar took no notice of him. He now presented
his companion to the steward and the steward's daughter.

"Dr. Fabian, my friend and teacher. We saw that the Castle was lighted
up, and heard that a great festivity was going on there. I am quite a
stranger to my mother's guests, and as my sudden arrival might very
naturally have caused some disturbance, we preferred to make a call on
your hospitality--at all events, until the visitors take their
departure. Besides this, there are some matters I wish to talk over
with you, Herr Frank--matters referred to in your letter, which I only
received a few days ago. I was travelling, and it was sent on after me
from place to place. Could we have half an hour's talk in private?"

Frank opened the door of his study. "May I ask you to step in here?"

Waldemar turned to his friend before going. "Pray wait for me here,
Doctor. I trust you are in no danger now of being treated as a
conspirator, and I shall soon be back." He bowed slightly to the young
girl, and left the room with the steward, having apparently lost sight
of the fact of the Assessor's existence.

"Herr Assessor," said Gretchen, going up to that unfortunate
representative of the L---- police, "I congratulate you on your
promotion."

"Oh, Fräulein!" groaned the unlucky man.

"You will have to acquaint his Excellency the President with the result
of your researches, you know, to make a personal report."

"Fräulein Margaret!"

"I have not the eye of a detective, have I?" continued the girl,
mercilessly. "Who would have thought that the young heir would have
'conspirator' so legibly, so unmistakably stamped on his countenance?"

It had cost the Assessor a great effort to hold his ground so far.
Mockery from those lips was more than he could bear. He rose, stammered
an excuse to the Doctor, the principal person concerned being no longer
present, and pleaded a feeling of indisposition as a pretext for
withdrawing as quickly as possible.

"Fräulein," said Dr. Fabian, rather timidly, but in a compassionate
tone, "that gentleman appears to be somewhat eccentric. Is he
perhaps ...?" and he touched his forehead with a significant gesture.

Gretchen laughed. "No, sir; but he is burning to advance in his career,
and he fancies that a couple of conspirators would help him forward
immensely. He thought he had found them in you and Herr Nordeck."

The Doctor shook his head sorrowfully. "Poor man! There is certainly
something morbid about him. I am afraid his career will hardly be so
brilliant as he hopes."

"I don't think it will," said Gretchen, very decidedly. "Our Government
is a great deal too sensible for that!"



                               FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: It is said that the city of Vineta really existed, and
that traces of it may yet be seen near Leddin, a village in the island
of Usedom, in the Baltic.]

[Footnote 2: Regierungsrath.]



UNDER A CHARM.

                                A Novel.



                        FROM THE GERMAN OF E. WERNER,
                            By CHRISTINA TYRRELL.



                          _IN THREE VOLUMES_.
                                VOL. II.




                                LONDON:
                        RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON,
                         NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
                                 1877.

                        (_All rights reserved_.)






                            PART THE SECOND.
                             (_Continued_.)





                             UNDER A CHARM.




                              CHAPTER III.


At an early hour on the following morning the Castle guests, most of
whom had spent the night beneath its roof, took their departure; only
Count Morynski and his daughter remained at Wilicza. As the young
proprietor's arrival had surprised them there, courtesy required that
they should address to him some words of greeting before leaving his
house; the Count, however, considered that, in the utter absence of all
intimacy between himself and his nephew, he would be acting with
propriety in leaving the latter exclusively to his mother for the first
few hours succeeding their meeting, and Wanda was even less eager to
assert the claims of relationship.

The Princess was alone with her two sons. She sat in her accustomed
place in the green drawing-room, with Waldemar opposite her, and Leo
standing by his brother's chair--to all appearances a peaceful, united
family group.

"No, Waldemar, I really cannot forgive you for this," said the lady, in
reproachful tones. "To stop at the steward's! As though your castle
were not at your command at any instant of the day! as though it would
not have been a pleasure to me to introduce you to my guests! I am
almost tempted to look on what you term a mark of consideration for me
as something quite the contrary. I really cannot let your fear of
causing a disturbance serve you as a pretext."

"Well, let my disinclination to come into a crowd of strangers the
moment I arrived serve me as such, then," replied Waldemar. "I really
was not in the humour for it."

"Have you still the old antipathy to everything like society? In that
case we shall have to narrow our connections here at Wilicza."

"Not on my account, I hope. I beg of you not to think of me in the
matter--only you must excuse me if I do not put in a very frequent
appearance in your _salon_. I have, it is true, learned to submit to
the exigencies of society when there is no avoiding them, but they are
still troublesome to me."

The Princess smiled. This tendency, of which she had so long been
aware, accorded exactly with her wishes. Indeed, everything in this
first meeting went to show that she had not erred in her judgment of
Waldemar, that his nature had remained fundamentally the same. There
was no marked change even in his personal appearance. His great height
was more noticeable now than formerly, because he carried himself more
erect, towering far above his tall and slender brother; and the
unripeness, the undeveloped lines of youth had given place to a perfect
manliness of form and bearing which, however, failed to make him more
genial or interesting than of yore. Those plain irregular features
could never be attractive, although the passion and vehemence, which in
the old days so often disfigured them, had yielded to an expression of
cold gravity. One decided advantage Waldemar possessed; his light hair,
'the enormous yellow mane,' as Wanda used satirically to call it, had
been cultivated and restrained in its luxuriant wild abundance. Its
thick masses were brushed back close to his head, leaving the forehead
and temples free; and a fine powerful brow it indisputably was, arched
over the sombre eyes, the one beauty Nature had vouchsafed to the young
man. The rough abruptness of his manner had been in a great measure
toned down. It was evident that he was now familiar with the usages of
society, and able to comply with them without visible constraint; but
there the list of his acquisitions during these years of University
life and of travel ended. An ornament to a drawing-room Waldemar
Nordeck would never be. There was a stand-off, repellant air about him,
a lack of affability; his whole being bore too distinctly the stamp of
a close and sombre reserve for any one ever to feel instinctively drawn
to him.

The contrast between the brothers was even more striking than in former
days. Leo, too, had left far behind him the boy of seventeen; but if,
even at that early age, his appearance had extracted from old Witold
the admission that his enemy's son was 'a picture of a boy,' he now
displayed all the beauty of his people--a beauty which, where it exists
at all, frequently attains to a rare perfection. Somewhat shorter, but
far more slender than Waldemar, he possessed in fullest measure all
those advantages which his elder brother lacked: the nobility of
feature, bringing into strongest relief his speaking likeness to his
mother; the splendid dark eyes, which flashed fire with every passing
emotion; the dark wavy hair, lying in soft and shining curls about his
brow. There was a touch of the romantic about the young Prince's whole
person, happily married to the distinction and refinement of a modern
gentleman. Leo Baratowski was a perfect type of beauty and of chivalry.

"So you have actually brought your old tutor with you?" said he, gaily.
"Well, I wonder at your taste, Waldemar. I was glad when my worthy
preceptor had nothing more to do with me, and should never have dreamed
of taking him as my companion to the University, still less as my
fellow-traveller."

The frigid constraint which always characterised young Nordeck's manner
when conversing with his mother, relaxed to a great extent now, as he
turned to the last speaker.

"You must not look on Dr. Fabian merely in the light of a tutor, Leo.
He has long ago given up teaching, and now devotes himself solely to
his historical studies. It was only his want of means which made him
take to his old profession. He has always been a scholar at heart; but
has never known how to turn his learning to practical account, so there
was nothing left him but to turn 'bear-leader.'"

"His vocation was evident enough. He had all the pedantry and
dry-as-dust manner of a _savant_," said the Princess.

"Were you not satisfied with his reports?" asked Waldemar, coolly.

"With what reports?"

"Those the Doctor used to send you when I first went to the
University," returned Waldemar. "He was in some doubt as to what you
really wanted to know, so I advised him to keep you thoroughly informed
on the subject of my studies. He was explicit enough, I think."

The Princess was startled. "You seem to be acquainted with all the
details of our correspondence, and even to have--superintended it to
some degree."

"Dr. Fabian has no secrets from me, and I thought it natural you would
like to hear about my studies," replied Waldemar, so equably that a
sudden suspicion of his having possibly seen through certain plans of
hers in former days vanished again from his mother's mind. She fancied
she had detected irony in his first remarks, but a glance at that
imperturbable face reassured her. Impossible! Neither he nor his whilom
tutor had the wit to penetrate so deeply below the surface.

"Leo is delighted at the idea of acting as your guide in your shooting
expeditions in and about Wilicza," said she, changing the subject. "I
must make up my mind to see very little of either of you for the next
few weeks."

Waldemar looked up at his brother, who was still leaning against his
chair.

"I am only afraid, Leo, that your idea of sport will prove to be very
different to mine. Even as a sportsman, you will be anxious to preserve
a gentlemanly appearance, so as to be ready in case of need to go
straight from the woods into a drawing-room, whereas, with me, you
would have to go through the bushes, and often enough through the bogs
and fens, after the game. Who knows how that would suit you!"

The young Prince laughed. "I think you will find that sport here in the
woods of Poland is rather a more serious thing than on your peaceful
old hunting-grounds at Altenhof. You will soon be able to judge whether
one finds one's self always in such irreproachable feather after, say,
a chance encounter with the wolves. I have had many an adventure, and
as Wanda is also passionately fond of hunting ... You know she is here,
at Wilicza?"

The question came suddenly, unexpectedly; it was put with a sort of
eager anxiety. Waldemar's tone, on the other hand, was calm and
tranquil as he replied--

"Countess Morynska? Yes. I heard so."

"Countess Morynska!" repeated the Princess, reproachfully. "She is your
cousin, and will soon stand to you in a closer relationship. Leo, you
will tell your brother that which is still a secret as regards the rest
of the world?"

"Certainly," answered the young Prince, quickly; "you must be told, of
course, Waldemar, that--that Wanda is engaged to me."

His eyes scanned his brother's face closely as he said the last words,
and for one second the Princess's keen look rested on it also; but not
the slightest trace of agitation was to be seen there. Waldemar's
features remained absolutely immovable. His manner, too, was unruffled;
he did not even alter his easy, half-negligent attitude.

"Engaged to you? Really?"

"It does not appear to surprise you," said Leo, rather disconcerted at
this equanimity.

"No," replied Waldemar, coldly. "I know you were always attached to
your cousin, and can imagine that neither my mother nor Count Morynski
would place obstacles in the way. I wish you all happiness, Leo."

The young Prince took the offered hand with real and hearty warmth. It
had been rather painful to him to touch upon this topic. He felt he had
done his brother a wrong, that he and Wanda had trifled with his
feelings most thoughtlessly and unkindly; and the calm with which
Waldemar received the news afforded him considerable relief. The
Princess, who herself attached no importance to these bygone matters,
but perceived that the subject should not be treated at any length,
hastened to introduce another.

"You will see Wanda and her father no later than to-day," said she,
carelessly. "We have, of course, a good deal of communication with
Rakowicz. But, in the first place, what do you think of your Wilicza?
You did not keep your word with us. When we were at C---- you promised
to pay us a visit in the following spring, and full four years have
elapsed before you have really made up your mind to come."

"I have always meant to perform my promise, and never succeeded in
doing it."

He got up and walked to the great centre window. "But you are right,
Wilicza has grown pretty nearly strange to me. I must go over the whole
place in the course of the next few days, so as to get to feel at home
here."

The Princess grew attentive. "The whole place? I do not think you will
find much to interest you, except the forests, which will have a
special charm for so ardent a sportsman as yourself. With regard to
Wilicza itself, the steward will give you all the information you
require. He has probably told you that he intends giving up his post?"
The question was put incidentally; there was no sign of the suspense
with which the answer to it was awaited.

"Yes," said Waldemar, looking through the window absently. "He is going
in the spring."

"I am sorry for it for your sake, all the more that I am the indirect
cause of your losing a clever and capable _employé_. Frank will, in
many respects, be hard to replace. His management, for instance, is
generally considered quite a model for imitation. Unfortunately, his
activity requires the permanent absenteeism of his principal, for he
can suffer no other authority where he is. His people complain bitterly
of his want of consideration, and I myself have had proofs of it. I was
forced, at last, seriously to remind him that neither the Castle nor
the Princess Baratowska was under his sway, and it was one of these
scenes which brought about his resignation. Now all depends upon which
side you take, Waldemar. I think the steward would not be disinclined
to stay on, if you were to accord him permission to play the master as
heretofore. I shall, of course, abide by your decision."

Young Nordeck waived the subject. "I only arrived yesterday evening,
and cannot possibly understand all the bearings of the case as yet," he
replied, with a significant gesture. "If Frank wishes to go, I shall
not keep him here; and if differences between himself and the Castle
are the cause of his departure, you do not imagine, I hope, that I
shall put my mother in a false position by taking part against her and
siding with the steward."

The Princess breathed freely. She had not been without uneasiness with
regard to Frank. Her son was only to have entered into relations with
him when he had learned to see with her eyes, and had become thoroughly
prejudiced against his agent. With the latter's straightforward
plain-speaking, and the young proprietor's violent temper, which could
not brook the slightest contradiction, a collision would then have been
inevitable; but now this unlooked-for and most unbecoming visit to the
manor-farm had marred the whole plan. Waldemar's manner conveyed,
however, that, during the short time he had been there, he had entered
into no discussion. He appeared to attach little importance to the
steward's going or staying, and possessed, as it seemed, sufficient
sense of decorum to range himself at the outset, and without any
preliminary examination, on his mother's side.

"I knew I could count upon you," she declared, well satisfied with this
first meeting. Everything was fitting in to meet her wishes. "But we
have fallen at once on this disagreeable business topic, as if we had
nothing better to occupy us. I wished ... Oh, you are there,
Bronislaus!" She turned to her brother, who at this moment entered the
room with his daughter on his arm.

At the last words Waldemar had also turned. For an instant he seemed
confounded, so strange to him was the tall proud figure now standing
before him. He had only known the maiden of sixteen, with her fresh,
youthful graces; the present vision may well have appeared altogether
new to him. 'She gives promise of beauty,' the Princess Baratowska had
said of her niece; but that lady herself could hardly have foreseen how
fully her prophecy would be justified. Beauty, in this case, did not,
it is true, consist in the regularity of outline, for Wanda's features
were not regular. The Slavonic type was too distinctly portrayed in
them, and they differed considerably from the Greek or Roman ideal;
but, nevertheless, there was an irresistible charm in the still
somewhat pale face which none could arm himself against. Her raven
hair, dressed very simply in opposition to the reigning fashion, was by
this unstudied art displayed in all its rich abundance; but the young
Countess's mightiest seduction lay in her dewy dark eyes, which gazed
out, clear and full, from under the long eyelashes. There was more in
them now than childish petulance and childish gaiety. Whether those
deep dark eyes were veiled in dreamy stillness, or beaming radiant with
passionate ardour, enigmatic and dangerous were they ever. One glance
at them would show how they could fascinate and hold captive without
hope of rescue, and the Countess Morynska had too often tested their
power not to be thoroughly conscious of its extent.

"You have taken all Wilicza by surprise, Waldemar," said the Count,
"and you come home to find guests staying in your house. We were to
have left early this morning, but on hearing of your arrival we could
not deny ourselves the pleasure of seeing you before starting."

"That we certainly could not, Cousin Waldemar." Wanda confirmed her
father's words, holding out her hand to the new-comer as she spoke,
with an enchanting smile and the most perfect ease of manner.

Waldemar bowed to his beautiful cousin with measured formality. He
seemed not to notice the proffered hand, or to have heard the gracious,
familiar little address, for without a syllable of reply he turned to
Morynski.

"I hope I am not driving you away, Count. As, for the time being, I am
only my mother's guest, we are both in similar case."

The Count seemed agreeably impressed by this politeness, of which he
had not thought his nephew capable. He answered pleasantly, while Wanda
stood by mute, with lips tightly pressed together. She had proposed to
herself to meet her young relation with the unembarrassed demeanour of
a woman of the world, generously to spare him a painful reminiscence by
herself altogether ignoring it; and now she must endure to see her ease
of manner unremarked, her generosity repelled. That glance of icy
indifference showed her that Waldemar, though he had forgotten the old
attachment, had not forgiven the old offence, for which he was now
taking his revenge.

The conversation soon grew general, the Princess and Leo now joining in
it. Subject matter was not wanting. They spoke of Waldemar's travels,
of his unexpected advent, of Wilicza and the neighbourhood; but
animated as the talk might be, it never became intimate or familiar.
The language was that used to a stranger who chanced to be on a footing
of relationship. This offshoot of the Nordecks had nothing really in
common with the Morynski and Baratowski circle, and the fact being felt
on all sides, the whole tone of the interview was involuntarily
affected by it. The Count could not prevail on himself to adopt towards
his sister's elder son the familiar form of address which came as a
matter of course when speaking to the younger; and Waldemar, taking his
cue therefrom, continued to call his uncle "Count." He showed himself
now much as he had been of old, silent and reserved, but no longer
awkward.

The season being autumn, hunting was naturally the topic which came
uppermost. It was indeed the favourite pastime of all the country
round, even the ladies entering into it with zest. The two now present
took a lively part in the discussion. Leo at length mentioned the great
Nordeck collection of arms, and especially vaunted some rifles which
formed part of it. Count Morynski differed from his nephew, declaring
that the pieces, though certainly of great value, were chiefly to be
viewed in the light of curiosities, while Waldemar unhesitatingly sided
with his brother. The gentlemen waxed hot in the defence of their
theories, and resolved to decide the question at issue by an
adjournment to the armoury and a provisional trial of the guns. They
went off immediately to put the matter to the test.

"Still the old Waldemar!" said the Princess, looking after them. "He
warms to nothing but to these sporting details. All else is indifferent
to him. Do you think him altered, Wanda?"

"Yes," replied the young Countess, laconically. "He has grown strangely
quiet."

"Yes, thank Heaven, he seems in some measure to have laid aside his
abrupt, unmannerly ways, while he is in the drawing-room, at least. One
can introduce him now without exposing one's self to ridicule, and
without having reason to dread an _éclat_ in the midst of the most
ordinary conversation. Those who are brought into close contact with
him will probably still have much to endure. The first blunder made by
a groom with regard to the dogs or horses will bring out the old
Berserker in him, with all his old fierceness and violence."

Wanda made no reply to this remark. She had thrown herself into an
armchair, and was playing with its silken tassels.

"His coming in that way was a true Nordeck proceeding," went on the
Princess, in a tone of annoyance. "It was bad enough that he should
dismiss the post-chaise at the last station, and continue the journey
on foot like any adventurer, but that would naturally not suffice
Waldemar. When he saw the Castle lighted up, and heard it was a
reception night here, he turned into the steward's in all haste, for
fear he should be obliged to show himself in company. Later in the
evening he came up to the Castle with the Doctor, made himself known to
Pawlick, and had himself shown to his rooms, giving most strenuous
orders that I was not to be disturbed. I, of course, heard of his
arrival before five minutes were over. My servants are better trained
than he supposes. As he had given such strict injunctions on the
subject, I had no choice, however, but to ignore his presence, and
allow myself to be taken by surprise this morning."

"A surprise which constrained us to remain on here," put in Wanda,
impatiently. "I hope papa may come back soon, that we may start."

"Not at once? You will at least stay to dinner."

"No, dear aunt, I shall beg papa to have the horses put to immediately.
Do you think it can be agreeable to me to sit here and be ignored by
Herr Waldemar Nordeck, as he has thought fit to ignore me for the last
half-hour? He avoided with admirable consistency either answering or
addressing a word to me."

The Princess smiled. "Well, well, you can afford to grant him that
small vengeance on your first meeting. You played with him rather
unmercifully, you know, and can hardly wonder if he shows a little
rancour now and then. That will pass away when you see more of each
other. What do you think of his appearance?"

"I think it is just as disagreeable as ever," declared the young
Countess; "more so, for then the impression it created was an
involuntary one, and now I almost fancy he wishes to repel.
Nevertheless, I don't know why--unless it be that his brow is so clear
and open--but he is no longer at a disadvantage beside Leo."

The Princess was silent. The same remark had been borne in on her mind
as the two stood together. Incontestable as was the younger brother's
beauty, the elder, though unable to make the smallest pretension to
good looks, was no longer in danger of being thrust into the
background. Should his person appear to others, as to Countess
Morynska, disagreeable, nay, repulsive, there was yet a certain
something in his bearing and manner which would maintain him in his
proper place. His mother herself was forced to admit as much.

"These giants always have one great advantage," said she; "they are
imposing at first sight, but that is all. You must never look for mind
or strength of character in them."

"Never?" said Wanda, with a peculiar expression. "Are you quite sure?"

The Princess seemed to think the question a strange and superfluous
one; she looked at her niece in astonishment.

"We both know what ends Wilicza has now to serve," the latter
continued, with suppressed vehemence, "and you must acknowledge, dear
aunt, that it would be very inconvenient and dangerous should it
suddenly occur to your son to show any 'mind.' Be prudent. That quiet
manner and, above all, that brow of his are not to my liking."

"My dear," said the elder lady, with calm superiority, "will you not
allow me to be the judge of my son's character; or do you imagine that,
at twenty years of age, you possess greater powers of discernment than
any I am endowed with? Waldemar is a Nordeck--that is saying
everything."

"I know you have always summed up your judgment of him in those words.
He may be the exact image of his father in every other feature; but
that forehead, with its sharply defined blue vein, he has from you.
Does it seem to you a thing impossible that he may one day show himself
his mother's son?"

"Utterly impossible," the Princess declared in a harsh tone, as though
the notion were really insulting to her. "All of myself I have had
power to transmit, Leo alone has inherited. Do not be foolish, Wanda.
You are irritated at Waldemar's behaviour to yourself, and I admit it
was not very flattering; but you really must take his susceptibility
into some account. How you manage to discover strength of character in
this tenacious clinging to an old grudge, I cannot understand--to me it
proves just the contrary. Any one else would have felt grateful to you
for endeavouring to put aside a painful half-forgotten souvenir, and
would have met you with an ease of manner equal to your own. As his
brother's betrothed ..."

"Does Waldemar know already?" the young Countess interrupted.

"Yes, Leo told him himself."

"And how did he take the news?"

"With the most perfect indifference, although I never gave him a hint
of it in my letters. That is precisely it. He soon got over his old
romantic feeling for you--we have proof of that--but he clings to the
fancied offence with all the obstinacy of his boyhood. Do you wish me
to take that as the mark of a strong mind?"

Wanda rose in unmistakable anger. "Certainly not; but I feel no
inclination to expose myself further to his obstinacy, and you will
therefore excuse us, dear aunt, if we leave Wilicza at once. Nothing
would induce me to remain, and papa will hardly let me set out alone.
We shall start within the hour."

The Princess protested in vain. Once again she had experience of the
fact that her niece owned a will as resolute as her own, and that,
where his daughter was concerned, 'there were no limits to Count
Morynski's weakness.' In spite of his sister's wishes repeatedly
expressed, in spite of Leo's most evident vexation, the plan decided on
by Wanda was carried out, and half an hour later the carriage which was
to convey her and her father to Rakowicz drove up to the door.




                              CHAPTER IV.


Some weeks had passed by, and the young proprietor's arrival had
wrought no change worth mentioning at Wilicza. His presence was hardly
noticed, for, as the Princess had rightly supposed, he was seldom at
the Castle, but spent his days roaming about the forests and
surrounding neighbourhood. The old passion for sport seemed to have
taken possession of him again, and to throw everything else into the
shade. He did not even appear regularly at meal times. His wanderings
generally led him so far afield that he was forced to turn into some
ranger's house, or into some farm for refreshment. This was of very
frequent occurrence. On such occasions he would return late and tired
out, and would spend his evenings chiefly in his own rooms, in Dr.
Fabian's company, only appearing when obliged so to do in his mother's
drawing-room.

After the first few days Leo had given up going with his brother, for
it turned out, indeed, that the two differed very widely in their ideas
on the subject of sport. The young Prince was in this, as in all else,
rash, fiery, but not enduring. He shot all that came within reach of
his barrel, scouted no obstacle when in pursuit, and found a decided
pleasure in anything which added a spice of danger to the work in hand.
Waldemar, on the other hand, followed with tenacious, indefatigable
perseverance, the whole day through, if necessary, the game he had
selected at the outset, giving no thought to rest or recruitment, and
imposing on himself fatigue and hardships which only his iron frame
could have withstood. Leo soon began to find it wearisome both to body
and mind, and unpleasant to the last degree; so that, on making the
discovery that his brother greatly preferred to be alone, he was very
glad to leave him to his own society.

Thus, though the three daily saw and spoke to each other, it could
hardly be said that they lived a life in common. Waldemar's stern,
almost repellant manner had in no way changed, and his reserve grew
rather than diminished in this closer intercourse. After weeks passed
under the same roof, neither the Princess nor Leo had advanced a step
nearer intimacy with him than on the day of his arrival; but such
intimacy was not needful. They were glad that the young man's conduct
tallied so completely with the suppositions they had formed. As
regarded social relations, he even showed a docility they had not
expected. For instance, he did not refuse to make a return visit to
Rakowicz, and the communications between the two castles were more
frequent than ever. Count Morynski and his daughter often came over to
Wilicza, though they but seldom found the master of the house at home.
The only thing which occasionally caused the Princess some annoyance
was the attitude preserved towards each other by her elder son and
Wanda. This remained absolutely unchanged; it was cold, constrained,
hostile even. The mother had tried several times to step in and
mediate, but always unsuccessfully. At last she gave up the idea of
curing two 'stubborn young heads' of their obstinacy. The whole thing
was unimportant, except as it might give pretext for a rupture.
Matters, however, were not carried to such lengths. Waldemar was always
as gracious to the Count as his ungracious nature would permit; and,
for the rest, he did his relatives the pleasure, of withdrawing from
their society as much as possible, so leaving them to their own
devices.

All Wilicza was astir, it being an occasion of one of those great
hunting festivities which were wont to gather the whole neighbourhood
together at the Castle. As usual, every invitation issued had been
accepted, and the company, which consisted exclusively of the Polish
nobility from the surrounding chateaux, was more numerous than ever.
Great was the Princess's satisfaction that she had not been forced to
modify her arrangements out of regard to her son. She would naturally
have so far sacrificed herself as to regulate the invitations according
to his wishes, but no such question was ever mooted. Waldemar seemed to
take it as a thing of course that his mother's circle of acquaintance
should now be his; and, seeing the very small part he took in such
social relations, the matter may well have appeared immaterial to him.
He himself held intercourse with no one in the neighbourhood; he even
avoided those connections which the Princess had thought of not without
apprehension, and made friends neither among the higher class of
officials at L----, nor the officers of that garrison, though he had
met most of the latter in other places. In these circles young Nordeck
was looked on as belonging altogether to the Baratowski faction, and as
being completely under the influence of his mother, who would, it was
declared, permit no foreign element so much as to approach him.

The hunting party was unusually late in setting out. A solid wall of
thick fog, drawn up round the house and closing in the view a few paces
off, had in the morning threatened to interfere with the whole
expedition. A little before noon, however, it cleared sufficiently for
the programme to be put into execution, with this single exception that
the breakfast was taken at the Castle, instead of in the forest.

Part of the guests were already making ready to start. The gentlemen
and younger ladies who were to join in the hunt, were taking leave
of the Princess, as she stood with Leo in the centre of the great
drawing-room. Any one unacquainted with the real circumstances must
have supposed the young Prince to be the master of Wilicza, for he and
his mother formed the central point to which all converged. They
accepted all the polite speeches, claimed all the attentions and
interest of the company, and did the honours with a distinction and
dignity of bearing which left nothing to be desired; while Waldemar
stood at the window, apart and almost overlooked, in conversation with
Dr. Fabian, who, as a matter of course, was to remain behind at the
Castle, but who had come down to join the breakfast party.

This demeanour on the part of the head of the house struck no one as
strange, he having always voluntarily chosen this subordinate _rôle_.
He seemed persistently to consider himself as his mother's guest who
had nothing to do with the entertainment of visitors, and declined all
participation in it as troublesome and disagreeable to him. So the
custom had gradually grown up of paying no special regard to one who
made so little claim to consideration. Gracious words were spoken to
him on coming and going. When he condescended to take part in the
conversation, he was listened to with some show of attention, and the
sacrifice was even made of speaking German in his presence, great and
general as was the objection felt to that language; but, in spite of
this, he was only nominally master in his own home, and it was known
that his passivity in this capacity was a thing of great price. All
vain attempts to break through the obstinate reserve in which he
delighted to enwrap himself had long been abandoned; and, on the whole,
the guests assembled beneath his roof took no more notice of him than
he of them.

"Pray do not ride so wildly again, Leo," remonstrated the Princess, as
she parted from her younger son with an embrace. "You and Wanda seem to
vie with one another in attempting the most hazardous feats. I
seriously beg of you to be prudent on this occasion;" and, turning to
her elder son, who now came up to her, she held out her hand with cool
affability. "Goodbye, Waldemar; you must be quite in your element
to-day."

"That I certainly am not," was the somewhat ill-humoured answer. "These
great conventional gala meets, when the woods are full of traqueurs and
huntsmen, and the game is driven right before your barrel for you to
shoot without any trouble, are decidedly not to my taste."

"Waldemar is never happy but when he is alone with his beloved rifle,"
said Leo, laughing. "I have a strong suspicion that you dragged me
through the thickest bushes and over the deepest bogs, and exposed me
to hunger and thirst, with the settled purpose of getting rid of me as
soon as possible. I am not exactly a novice in such matters, but after
the first three days I had enough of the horrible toil you call
pleasure."

"I told you beforehand that our views on the subject would differ,"
said Waldemar, coolly, as the two left the drawing-room together and
went down the steps.

A number of the visitors had already assembled below on the great lawn
before the Castle, and among them were Count Morynski and his daughter.
The gentlemen were with one voice admiring Nordeck's beautiful horse,
which he had but lately sent for and which had only arrived the day
before. They acknowledged that, in this respect at least, the master of
Wilicza had shown consummate taste.

"A splendid creature!" said the Count, patting the animal's slender
neck, a caress received by its object with all due patience. "Waldemar,
is this really the wild Norman you used to ride at C----? Pawlick was
in great anguish of mind each time he had to hold his bridle, for the
beast was dangerous then to all who went near him. He seems to have
grown remarkably gentle."

Waldemar, who had just come out of the house with his brother, drew
near the group.

"Norman was very young and new to the saddle in those days," said he.
"He has learned to behave himself since then, just as I have learned to
give up rough riding. But as to the gentleness of the animal, ask Leo
what he thinks of it. He found out what it was worth when he tried to
mount him yesterday."

"A devil of a horse!" cried Leo, in a tone of irritation. "I think you
have trained him to go on like a mad creature directly any one but
yourself puts his foot in the stirrup; but I will get the better of him
yet."

"You had better let it alone. Norman obeys me, and no one but me. You
will never get control over him. You might have found that out
yesterday, I should have thought."

A dark flush spread over the young Prince's face. He had caught a look
of Wanda's, imperiously calling on him to contradict the assertion. He
did not comply exactly; but the look stung him and added fuel to his
anger, as he replied with some heat--

"If it gives you any pleasure to break in your horse in such a manner
that no one but yourself can mount him, that is your business. I have
certainly not taught my Vaillant any such high art"--he pointed to the
beautiful sorrel his groom was holding for him----"nevertheless, you
would not fare much better with him than I with your Norman. You have
never been willing to make the attempt. Will you try him to-day?"

"No," replied Waldemar, quietly. "Your horse is sometimes very
refractory. You allow him to play all sorts of tricks, and to show
caprices which I could not stand. I should be under the necessity of
ill-using him, and should be sorry to employ violence to your
favourite. Your heart is set on him, I know."

"Well, there would be no harm in trying, Herr Nordeck," put in
Wanda--she had dropped the familiar "Cousin Waldemar" once for all
after their first meeting. "I really think you ride _nearly_ as well as
Leo."

Waldemar moved not a muscle at this attack. He remained perfectly
composed.

"You are very kind to credit me with any skill in horsemanship,
Countess Morynska," he replied.

"Oh, I meant no offence," declared Wanda, in a tone which was still
more damaging than her previous word 'nearly.' "I am persuaded that the
Germans are excellent equestrians; but they cannot, of course, compare
with our gentlemen in the art of riding."

Nordeck turned to his brother without making any reply. "Will you leave
your Vaillant to me for to-day, Leo? At all risks?"

"At all risks," cried Leo, with flashing eyes.

"Do not attempt it, Waldemar," interposed the Count, who appeared not
to approve of the turn the matter had taken. "You have judged quite
correctly. The horse is refractory, and quite unaccountable in his
caprices; besides which, Leo has accustomed him to all sorts of rash
adventures and mad tricks, so that no strange rider, were he the most
skilful in the world, could be a match for him. He will throw you,
without a shadow of doubt."

"Well, Herr Nordeck may put it to the test, at least," suggested Wanda,
"supposing he cares to incur the danger."

"Do not be uneasy," said Waldemar to the Count, who darted a displeased
glance at his daughter. "I will ride the horse. You see how eager
Countess Morynska is to--see me thrown. Come, Leo."

"Wanda, I must beg you to desist," whispered Morynski to his daughter.
"A real feud is growing up between you and Waldemar. I must say you
neglect no opportunity of irritating him."

The young Countess switched her whip sharply against her velvet habit.
"You are wrong, papa. Irritate? This Nordeck never allows himself to be
irritated, certainly not by me!"

"Well, why do you always return to the charge, then?"

Wanda made no answer; but her father had spoken truly. She could let
pass no opportunity of exasperating the man who at one time had blazed
up with passionate susceptibility at a thoughtless word, and who now
met her every attack with the same imperturbable calm.

Meanwhile the attention of the others had been attracted to what was
going on. They knew Nordeck to be a skilful, if a prudent rider; but it
appeared to them a thing of course that he could not in this respect
compare with a Baratowski, and, less considerate than Count Morynski,
they heartily enjoyed the prospect of the 'foreigner's' defeat. The two
brothers were standing by the sorrel now. The slender, fiery animal
struck the ground impatiently with its hoofs, and gave the groom at his
head trouble enough to hold him. Leo took the bridle from the man's
hands, and held the horse himself while his brother mounted, intense
satisfaction beaming in his eyes as he did so--he knew his Vaillant.
Then he let him go, and stepped back.

The sorrel had hardly felt the strange hand on his reins when he began
to give proof of his peculiar temper. He reared, plunged, and made the
most violent efforts to shake off his rider; but the latter sat as
though glued to the saddle, and opposed so quiet but energetic a
resistance to the animal's impetuous violence that at last it succumbed
to its fate, and endured him.

But its docility went no further, for when Waldemar would have urged it
forward it resolutely refused to obey. Nothing could induce it to stir
from the spot. It spent itself in all manner of tricks and caprices;
but no skilful management, no show of energy on the part of its rider,
availed to make it advance a step. Gradually, however, it worked itself
into a state of excitement which was really becoming serious. So far,
Waldemar had remained tolerably quiet, but now his brow began to flush.
His patience was at an end. He raised his whip, and struck the
rebellious horse a merciless, well-directed blow.

This unwonted treatment drove the capricious, spoilt creature
distracted. It gave one bound, scattering right and left the gentlemen
standing round, and then shot like an arrow across the lawn into the
great avenue which led to the Castle. There the ride degenerated into a
wild struggle between horse and rider. The former, frenzied with rage,
fairly battled with its adversary, and visibly tried all the means in
its power to unseat him. Though Waldemar kept his seat in the saddle,
it was evident that he did so at extreme risk to his life.

"Leo, put a stop to this," said Morynski to his nephew, uneasily.
"Vaillant will soon calm down if he hears your voice. Persuade your
brother to dismount, or we shall have an accident."

Leo stood by with folded arms, watching the struggle; but he made no
attempt to interfere. "I did not hide from Waldemar that the horse is a
dangerous one for a stranger to mount," he replied, coldly. "If he
purposely goads it into a fury, he must take the consequences. He knows
well enough that Vaillant will not stand the whip."

At this moment Waldemar came back. He had retained sufficient control
over the reins to force the animal into a given direction, for instead
of careering over the lawn they swept round it in a wide circle. Beyond
this, all guidance was out of the question. The sorrel still violently
resisted the hand which held it in an iron grasp, and tried by
unexpected lightning-like darts and plunges to throw its rider; but
Nordeck's face showed that the old temper was rising within him.
Scarlet to the roots of his hair, with eyes which seemed to emit
sparks, and teeth tightly set, he used his whip and spurs in so
merciless a manner that Leo grew wild with exasperation. He had looked
on composedly at his brother's danger, but this punishment of his
favourite was more than he could bear.

"Waldemar, have done," he cried, angrily. "You will ruin the horse for
me. We have all seen now that Vaillant will carry you. Let him be."

"I shall teach him obedience first." Waldemar's voice vibrated with
passion and excitement. He was past thinking of others now, and Leo's
interference had no other effect than to bring down on the horse still
more unsparing treatment, as a second time they made the tour of the
lawn. At the third round the animal was vanquished. It no longer strove
against its rider's will, but moderated into the prescribed pace, and
at the first hint from the reins came to a halt before the Castle,
completely subdued, it is true, but ready to sink with exhaustion.

Nordeck dismounted. The gentlemen gathered round him, and there was no
lack of compliments on his admirable horsemanship, though the spirits
of the company were evidently damped. Leo alone said nothing. He stood
silent, stroking the trembling, sweating horse, on whose shining brown
coat traces of blood were to be seen--so terribly had Waldemar's spurs
ploughed his sides.

"That was a trial of strength I never saw equalled," said Count
Morynski; but his words were forced. "Vaillant will not so easily
forget the day he carried you."

Waldemar had already got the better of his passion. The flush on his
brow and the full swollen blue vein on the temple alone bore witness to
his inward excitement, as he answered--

"I had to try and deserve Countess Morynska's flattering opinion that I
could ride _nearly_ as well as my brother."

Wanda stood by Leo's side, looking as though she had personally
suffered a defeat which she was ready to avenge at the peril of her
life, so threatening was the blaze of those deep dark eyes.

"I am sorry that my heedless words should have brought down such harsh
usage on Vaillant. The noble creature is certainly not accustomed to
such treatment."

"Nor I to such resistance," replied Waldemar, sharply. "It is not my
fault if Vaillant would not yield to whip and spur. Yield he must,
sooner or later."

Leo put an end to the conversation by ordering his groom, in a loud
demonstrative manner, to lead the sorrel, which was 'ready to drop,'
back to the stables, and there to take all possible care of him, and at
once to saddle another horse and bring it round. Count Morynski,
fearing an outbreak, went up to his nephew and drew him aside.

"Control yourself, Leo," he said, in a low urgent tone. "Do not appear
before all these people with that frowning brow. Do you want to seek a
quarrel with your brother?"

"What if I do?" muttered the young Prince. "Has not he exposed me to
the ridicule of all the hunt by that ill-timed story of his about
Norman? Has not he almost ridden my Vaillant to death? And all for the
sake of a miserable boast!"

"Boast? Think what you are saying. It was you who proposed to him to
try the horse. He refused at first."

"He wanted to show me and all of us that he is master when a mere
display of coarse physical strength is in question. As though any one
ever disputed him that! It is the only thing he is capable of! But I
tell you, uncle, if he challenges me in this way again, my patience
will give way. It would if he were ten times lord of Wilicza."

"No imprudence!" said the Count. "You and Wanda are unfortunately
accustomed to subordinate everything to your own personal impressions.
I can never obtain from her the smallest concession where this Waldemar
is concerned."

"Wanda, at least, can show her dislike openly," grumbled Leo, "whereas
I. There he is standing beside his Norman; together they look the very
picture of composure and tranquillity, but let any one try to go near
either of them!"

The fresh horse was now brought round, and in the general departure
which ensued any little unpleasantness caused by the late incident was
dissipated. It was, however, fortunate that the proceedings of the day
kept the brothers apart, that they were at no time long in each other's
company, else, in the exasperated state of Leo's mind, a rupture would
have become inevitable. When at length the chase was reached, the love
of sport awoke, and, for some hours at least, drove all else into the
background.

Waldemar was wrong in his aversion to these 'great gala meets.' They
presented a brilliant and beautiful spectacle, especially here at
Wilicza, where such _fêtes_ were conducted on a right princely scale.
Each forest station was called on to furnish its contingent of men in
full gala uniform. The whole woodland district was alive, fairly
swarming with foresters and huntsmen; but the most imposing sight
of all was the _cortége_ of the hunt itself as it careered along.
The gentlemen, for the most part, fine noble-looking figures in
well-appointed hunting dress, mounted on slender fiery steeds--the
ladies in flowing habits riding by the side of their cavaliers, the
servants bringing up the train; then the blast of horns and the baying
of hounds. It was a scene all aglow with animation. Soon the stag came
flitting by, and shots resounded on all sides, awakening the echoes and
announcing the opening of the day's sport.

Now that the fog had lifted, the weather was all that could be wished.
It was a cool, somewhat overcast, but fine November day. The stock of
deer in the Wilicza chase was considered to be unrivalled, the
arrangements were on all points excellent, and the game was most
abundant. That every effort should be made to regain what had been lost
in the morning was a thing of course. The short autumn afternoon was
fast closing in, but no one thought of staying the sport at sight of
the first shades of twilight.

Some thousand paces distant from the forester's house, which was to-day
to serve as rendezvous, there lay a stretch of meadow, solitary and, as
it were, lost in the midst of the encircling thickets. The close
undergrowth and the mighty trees which fenced it in, made the spot
invisible to all but those who knew where to find it, or who stumbled
on it by accident. Now, indeed, that the chill of autumn had in some
degree thinned the surrounding foliage, access could be had to it more
easily. In the midst of this piece of meadow-land lay a small lake or
pond, such as is often to be found in the heart of the woods. During
the summer months, with its waving reeds and dreamy water-lilies, it
lent to the place a peculiar poetic charm of its own; but now it
brooded dark and bare, fading leaves floating on its surface, its brink
edged by a circle of brown discoloured grass, autumnally desolate like
all its surroundings.

Under one of the trees, which stretched its boughs far out over the
meadow, stood Countess Morynska, quite unattended and alone. Her
retirement must have been a voluntary one. She could not have
accidentally wandered from the hunt, for sounds of the gay party were
to be heard distinct enough, though borne over from a distance, and
close at hand stood the forester's house, where the young lady must
have left her horse. She seemed purposely to have sought, and wishful
to preserve, her present solitude. Leaning against the trunk of a tree,
she gazed fixedly at the water, and yet plainly saw neither it nor any
other feature of the landscape before her. Her thoughts were elsewhere.
Wanda's beautiful eyes could take a very sombre look, as was evident at
this moment. She appeared to be struggling with some feeling of angry
resentment; to judge, however, by the knitting of her white brow and
the defiant curl of her lips, this feeling would not allow itself to be
so easily mastered, but stood its ground firmly. Farther and farther
the hunt receded, taking, as it seemed, the direction towards the
river, and leaving this part of the chase quiet and free. Gradually the
varied, confused tones died away in the ever-increasing distance; only
the dull shots reverberated through the air--then these too ceased, and
all became still, still as death, in the forest.

Wanda must have stood so, motionless, for some length of time, when the
sound of steps and a rustling close at hand attracted her attention.
She raised herself impatiently, and was about to search for the cause
of the disturbance, when the bushes were thrust aside, and Waldemar
Nordeck stepped out from among them. He started at sight of the
Countess. The unexpected meeting seemed as little agreeable to him as
to her, but a retreat now was out of the question; they were too near
each other for that. Waldemar bowed slightly, and said, "I was not
aware that you had already left the hunt. Countess Morynska has the
reputation of being so indefatigable a sportswoman--will she be missing
at the close of the day?"

"I may retort with a like question," replied Wanda. "You, of all
people, to be absent from the last run!"

He shrugged his shoulders. "I have had quite enough of it. The noise
and bustle of such a day destroy all the pleasure of the sport for me.
To my mind all the excitement of the thing is in its chances, in the
trouble one has to take. I miss all this, and, more especially, I miss
the forest stillness and forest solitude."

Quiet and solitude were precisely what Wanda herself had felt in need
of, what she had sought here; but nothing, of course, would have
induced her to admit it. She merely asked--

"You come now from the forester's house?"

"No, I sent on Norman there before me. The hunt is away down by the
river. The run will soon be over now, and they are sure to pass by here
on their return. The rendezvous is close by."

"And what are we to do in the mean time?" asked Wanda, impatiently.

"Wait," returned Waldemar, laconically, as he unslung his gun and
uncocked it.

The young Countess frowned. "Wait!" In a matter of course tone as
though he took her staying for granted! She had a great mind to return
at once to the forester's house; but no! It was for him to withdraw
after disturbing her so unceremoniously in her retreat. She resolved to
remain, even though she must spend some time longer in this Nordeck's
company.

He certainly made no sign of going. He had leaned his gun against a
tree, and now stood with folded arms surveying the landscape. Not once
to-day had the sun succeeded in breaking through the veil of clouds;
but now, at its setting, it gilded them with a bright gleam. A yellow
flame spread over the western horizon, glimmering pale and uncertain
through the trees, and the mists, those first precursors of evening,
began to rise from the meadow ground. Very autumnal did the forest look
with its half-stripped branches and carpet of dry leaves spread on the
ground. Not a trace was there of that fresh sweet life which breathes
through the woods in spring and summer, of that mighty vital force
which pulses then through Nature's veins; everywhere existence seemed
on the ebb, everywhere marks were visible of slow but unceasing decay.

The young Countess's eyes were fixed, darkly meditative, on her
companion's face, as though she must and would decipher some enigma
there. He seemed aware of her observation, though turning from her as
he stood, for he suddenly faced round, and said carelessly, in the tone
of a common remark--

"There is something desolate in the look of such an autumn landscape as
evening comes on."

"And yet it has a peculiar poetic melancholy of its own," said she. "Do
not you think so?"

"I?" he asked, sharply. "I have had very little to do with poetry--as
you know, Countess Morynska."

"Yes, I know," she answered, in the same tone; "but there are moments
when it forces itself upon one."

"It may be so with romantic natures. People of my sort have to learn to
push through life without either romance or poetry. The years must be
endured and lived through one way or another."

"How calmly you say that! Mere patient endurance was not exactly your
forte formerly. I think you are wonderfully changed in that respect."

"Oh, one does not always remain a passionate, hot-headed boy! But
perhaps you think I can never get the better of my old childish
follies."

Wanda bit her lips. He had shown her very plainly that he could get the
better of them. "I do not doubt it," she said, coldly. "I give you
credit for much that you do not see fit to show openly."

Waldemar became attentive. For one moment he looked keenly,
scrutinisingly at the young lady, and then replied quietly--

"In that case you set yourself in opposition to all Wilicza. People
here are unanimous in declaring me a most inoffensive person."

"Because you wish to pass for such. I do not believe it."

"You are very good to ascribe a most unmerited importance to me," said
Waldemar, ironically; "but it is cruel of you to deprive me of the
single advantage I possess in the eyes of my mother and brother, that
of being harmless and insignificant."

"If my aunt could hear the tone in which you say that, she would alter
her opinion," declared Wanda, irritated by his sarcasm. "For the
present, I am certainly alone in mine."

"And so you will continue," said Nordeck. "The world sees in me an
indefatigable sportsman; perhaps, after the trial of day, it may vouch
me a skilful rider--nothing more."

"Are you really bent on sport, Herr Nordeck, all these long days while
you are roaming about with your gun and game bag?" asked the young
lady, fixing a keen look on him.

"And on what else might I be bent, according to your notion?"

"I do not know, but I fancy you are inspecting your Wilicza, inspecting
it closely. There is not a forester's station, not a village, not a
farm, however distant from your property, which you have not visited.
You have even called at the farms leased out to the different tenants,
and you will no doubt soon be as much at home everywhere else as you
already are in your mother's drawing-room. You appear there but seldom,
it is true, and play the part of an indifferent bystander; yet nothing
of what is going on, no word or look, escapes you. You seem to bestow
but little notice on our visitors; yet there is not one of them who has
not had to pass muster before you and on whom you have not pronounced
your verdict."

She had gone on delivering thrust after thrust with a sureness of aim
and decision of manner well calculated to disconcert him, and, for a
moment, he actually was unable to answer her. He stood with a darkened
face and lips tightly pressed together, visibly striving to overcome
his annoyance. It was, however, no easy thing to vanquish 'this
Nordeck.' When he looked up the cloud was still on his brow, but his
voice expressed nothing save the keenest sarcasm.

"You really make me feel ashamed, Countess. You show me that from the
very day of my arrival I have been the object of your close and
exclusive observation. That is indeed more than I deserve!"

Wanda started, and flashed a look, scorching in its anger, at the man
who ventured to return her shaft.

"I certainly do not deny the observation," said she; "but you will feel
perfectly assured, Herr Nordeck, that no personal interest has any
share in it."

He smiled with unfeigned bitterness. "You are quite right. I do not
suppose that _you_ take any interest in my person. You are safe from
any such suspicion on my part."

Wanda would not understand the allusion, but she avoided meeting his
glance. "You will, at least, bear me witness that I have been candid,"
she continued. "It is for you now to admit or to deny the truth of that
which I have observed."

"And if I decline to answer you?"

"I shall infer that I have seen aright, and shall earnestly endeavour
to convince my aunt of the fact that her son is a more dangerous person
than she supposes."

The same sarcastic expression played about Waldemar's lips as he
answered her. "Your judgment may be of the highest order, Countess
Morynska, but you are no diplomatist, or you would choose your words
more cautiously. Dangerous! The term is a significant one."

The young lady involuntarily shrank back in evident alarm. "I repeated
your own expression, I think," said she, recovering herself quickly.

"Oh, that is different. I began to fancy that something was going on at
Wilicza, and that my presence here was looked on as a danger."

Wanda made no reply. She saw now how extremely imprudent she had been
to offer battle on this ground, where her adversary showed himself so
completely her match. He parried every blow, returned her every thrust,
and entangled her hopelessly in her own words, and he had withal the
advantage of coolness and composure on his side, while she was on the
verge of losing her self-command. She saw plainly that she could make
no head in this direction, so she took a rapid resolution, and boldly
tore away the net which her own unguarded words had woven about her.

"Lay aside your tone of scorn," said she, fixing her grave dark eyes
full upon him. "I know that it is not meant for the matter we are
discussing, but solely and altogether for me. You oblige me at last to
touch upon a point which I should certainly have left buried in the
past, were it not that you are continually recurring to it. Whether
such conduct is chivalrous, I will not stay to inquire, but you must
feel as well as I do that it has brought us into a position which is
becoming intolerable. I offended you once, and you have never forgiven
me to the present day. Well"--she paused a moment, and drew a long
breath----"I behaved ill to you then. Will that suffice you?"

It was a strange apology, made even stranger by the haughty tone in
which it was offered, the tone of a proud woman who knows right well
that it involves no humiliation to herself if she stoops to ask pardon
of a man for having made him the toy of her caprices. Countess Morynska
was, doubtless, fully conscious of this, or she would hardly have
deigned to speak the words. They produced, however, a very different
effect from that which she had expected.

Waldemar had stepped a pace or two back; his eyes seemed to look her
through and through. "Really?" he said, slowly, emphasising every word.
"I did not know that Wilicza was worth _that_ to your party!"

"You think ..." cried Wanda, vehemently.

"I think that once already I have had to pay dearly for being the owner
of this place," he interrupted her with a warmth which showed that he
too was roused at length; his tone told of a long pent-up, rankling
irritation. "In those days the object in view was to open Wilicza to my
mother and her interests; now this Wilicza is to be preserved to those
same interests, cost what it may. But they forget that I am no longer
an inexperienced boy. You yourself have opened my eyes, Countess, and
now I shall keep them open at the risk of having my conduct stigmatised
by you as unchivalrous."

Wanda had grown deadly pale. Her right hand, hanging by her side,
clenched itself convulsively in the velvet folds of her habit.

"Enough," she said, controlling herself with an effort. "I see that you
wish for no reconciliation, and that you have recourse to insults in
order to make any understanding between us possible. Well and good, I
accept the enmity you offer me.

"You are mistaken," replied Waldemar, more calmly. "I offer you no
enmity. That would indeed be a lack of chivalry towards ..."

"Towards whom?" cried the young Countess, with flashing eyes, as he
paused.

"Towards my brother's promised wife!"

A thrill passed through Wanda. Strange that the word should strike her
as with a sudden pang. Involuntarily her eyes sought the ground.

"I have postponed offering you my congratulations hitherto," continued
Waldemar. "Pray accept them to-day."

The Countess bowed her head in silent acknowledgment. She herself knew
not what closed her lips, but at that moment she found it impossible to
answer him. It was the first time this subject had been touched on
between them, and the simple mention of it seemed to suffice, for
Waldemar added no syllable to his congratulatory speech.

The yellow flame had long ago died out of the sky, and in its place
had come a dreary, murky grey. The evening breeze swept through the
half-stripped bushes and rustled among the crests of the tall trees,
still partly decked with their gay many-tinted foliage; drooping and
faded it hung now from the branches, leaf after leaf fluttered
noiselessly to the ground, strewing the grass and the surface of the
little lake. Through the scantily clothed boughs came a sort of
low-whispered autumnal lament for the beauty and life which had been so
blooming and verdant in the old sunshiny days, but was now fast sinking
into its grave. Gloomy and weird the forest loomed across with all its
fantastic, indistinct shadows; and here in the vaporous meadow the
moist veil rose, ever thicker and thicker, hovered hither and thither,
finally massing itself over the small piece of water. There it
remained, a white spectral vision, floating uneasily backwards and
forwards, stretching out its great humid arms to the two figures
standing on the brink, as though it would have gathered them to it,
shaping the while before their eyes a thousand forms and pictures, one
pressing back, one flowing into the other in endless variation.

Nothing was to be heard but the monotonous sough of the wind, the
rustle of the falling leaves--yet stay! what sound was that which,
through it all, came like the distant, distant roar of the sea, while
lo! out from the bosom of the seething mists a Fata Morgana rose to
view. There appeared the green branches of mighty secular beeches, all
flooded in the last golden glow of evening, the blue surging sea in its
vast immeasurable greatness. Slowly the burning sun sank into the
waters, and out from the stream of light, which at its contact spread
far over the waves, arose once more the fairy city of the legend in all
its halo of mystic fancy and enchanted splendour. The treasure kingdom
again opened its untold stores, and once again, fuller now and more
resonant than in that hour on the Beech Holm, rang out the bells of
Vineta.

The old tale had not held good in the case of the two who had lived
through that charmed hour together. Hostile and as strangers they had
parted; hostile and as strangers they had since met, and so they now
stood face to face. The youth had become a cold stern man, pursuing in
proud reserve his solitary way through life; the child had ripened into
a happy beautiful woman, but to neither of them had come again that
which yon hour had brought them. Only now, on this dreary autumnal
evening did it all quicken into life anew; and, as the remembrance was
wafted over to them, the years which lay between faded away; hatred,
strife, and bitterness, all grew dim; nothing remained but that deep
inexpressible aspiration towards an unknown happiness which had first
been called into being by the spirit bells of Vineta--nothing but the
old sunset dream.

Waldemar was the first to rouse himself. He passed his hand rapidly
across his brow, as though by an effort of will he would shake off all
these fancies and drive away the vision.

"We should do much better to return to the forester's house, and wait
there for the hunting party," said he, hastily. "The twilight is
falling, and one can hardly breathe in this sea of mist."

Wanda assented at once. She, too, had seen enough of the phantasmagoria
contained in that sea of mist, and was anxious by any means to put an
end to the interview. She raised her habit and prepared to go. Waldemar
threw his gun over his shoulder, and they were about to start when
suddenly he paused.

"I offended you with my suspicions a little while ago, and perhaps I
was unjust; but--be candid with me--was the half apology to which you
condescended really intended for Waldemar Nordeck, or not rather for
the master of Wilicza, with whom a reconciliation is sought in order
that he may abet, or at least shut his eyes to, that which is passing
on his estates."

"So you know ...?" interrupted Wanda, and then stopped in confusion.

"Enough to take from you all apprehension of having been indiscreet
just now. Did they really think me so unintelligent that I alone should
be blind to what is already subject of conversation in L----, namely,
that a party movement is going on, of which Wilicza is the seat, and my
mother the soul and centre. There could be no danger in your owning to
me what the whole neighbourhood knows. _I_ knew it before I came here."

Wanda was silent. She tried to read in his face how much he knew, but
Waldemar's features were undecipherable as ever.

"But that is not the question now," he began again. "I was asking for
an answer to my question. Was that act of self-conquest a voluntary
one, or--had the task been set you? Oh, do not start so indignantly. I
only ask, and you can surely forgive me for looking distrustfully on
any show of friendliness on your part, Wanda."

The young Countess would probably have taken these words as a fresh
offence, and have answered them in an angry spirit, had they not
conveyed a something which disarmed her in spite of herself. A change
had come over Waldemar since he had looked into that mist yonder. He
was hostile and frigid no longer; his voice, too, had quite another
sound--it was softer, almost subdued. A little shock passed through
Wanda as, for the first time for years, he pronounced her name.

"If my aunt at one time made me the unconscious instrument of her
plans, you should accuse her, and not me," she replied, in a low tone;
and, as she uttered them, some invisible power seemed to rob her words
of their sting. "I suspected nothing of it. I was a child following the
impulses of my caprices, but now"--she raised her head proudly--"now I
am accountable to no one for what I do and leave undone, and the words
I spoke just now were spoken on my own responsibility alone. You are
right, they were not intended for Waldemar Nordeck; since he and I met,
he has never given me cause to seek or even to wish for a
reconciliation. My object was to force the master of Wilicza into
raising for once his closed vizier. There is no need for that now. This
interview of ours has taught me what I suspected before, that we have
in you a bitter, a merciless adversary, who will use his power at the
decisive moment, even though in so doing he must trample all family,
all natural ties under foot."

"To whom should these ties bind me, pray?" asked Waldemar. "To my
mother, perhaps, you think? My mother and I know very well how matters
stand between us. She is less disposed than ever to forgive me for
inheriting the Nordeck wealth, instead of her younger son. Or perhaps
to Leo? Well, it may be that some brotherly love exists between us; but
I do not think it would hold good if our ways should chance to cross,
at all events not on his part."

"Leo would willingly have met you as a brother, if you had not made it
too hard for him," interrupted Wanda. "You were always reserved and
distant even with him; but there were times formerly when he could draw
nearer you, when the fact that you were brothers could be discerned.
But now it would be asking too much of his pride to endeavour to break
through the icy barrier you oppose to him and to all those about you.
It would be quite in vain for your mother and brother to come to you
with demonstrations of affection; they would be met by a hard
indifference which cares neither for them nor for any one in this
world."

She stopped, for Waldemar was standing close to her side, and his eyes
were riveted on her.

"You judge very correctly, very unsparingly," he said, slowly. "Have
you never asked yourself what has made me hard and austere? There was a
time when I was not so, at least not to you--when a word, a look could
guide me, when I lent myself patiently to every whim. You might have
done much with me then, Wanda--almost anything. That you were not
willing, that my handsome, chivalrous brother even in those days
carried off the palm was, after all, but natural. What could I have
been to you? But you must understand that the events of those days
formed a crisis in my life, and a man, who--like myself, for
instance--has no turn for constant melancholy, naturally grows hard and
suspicious after such an experience. Now, indeed, I look upon it
as a piece of good fortune that my boyish romance was nipped in the
bud--else my mother would infallibly have conceived the idea of
repeating in our persons the drama which was performed here twenty
years ago, when a Nordeck brought home a Morynska as his bride. You, a
girl of sixteen, would possibly have submitted to the expressed will of
your family, and I--should have shared my father's fate. From that we
have both been preserved, and now the whole thing is over and buried in
the past. I only wished to recall to your mind that _you_ have no right
to reproach me if I seem hard to you and yours.--Will you let me go
with you now to the forester's house?"

Wanda followed him in silence. Angry and ready for the fray as she had
been at first, the turn finally taken by the conversation had struck
the weapons from her hand. To-day again they parted as foes, but they
both felt that henceforth the nature of the struggle between them was
changed--possibly the struggle itself would not on that account be a
less arduous one.

Shrouded in its own misty breath, the meadow lay more and more closely
hedged around by the dusky evening shadows. Over the lake the white
cloud still hovered, but now it was only a formless, ever-shifting mass
of vapour. The dream-picture which had risen from it, had vanished once
more--whether it were forgotten could only be known to the two who
walked on together silently side by side. Here in the dreary autumnal
forests, in the eerie twilight hour, the old sea-legend from out of the
far north had been wafted over to them, whispering anew the prophecy,
"He who has once looked on Vineta will know no rest all his life for a
longing to see the fair city again, even though he himself should be
drawn down by it into the depths."




                               CHAPTER V.


The two rooms in the Castle occupied by Dr. Fabian looked out on to the
park, and were in some measure shut off from the rest of the house.
There was a special reason for this. When the Princess caused the
hitherto unused apartments of her first husband to be put in readiness
for that husband's son, some thought was naturally given to the
ex-tutor who was to accompany him, and a room was prepared in
consequence. It was rather small and very noisy, for it lay next to the
main staircase; but, according to the lady's notion, it was just suited
to the Doctor. She knew that at Altenhof very little fuss had been made
about him, especially by his former pupil. There must have been a
considerable change in this respect, however, for on his arrival
Waldemar had declared the accommodation to be quite inadequate, had
caused the visitors' rooms on the other side of the house to be opened,
and had sequestrated two of them to his friend's use. Now these rooms
had been specially fitted up for Count Morynski and his daughter, who
often spent whole weeks at Wilicza. Of this fact the young owner of the
place could not possibly be aware; but when Pawlick, who now filled the
office of major-domo at the Castle, opened his mouth to reply, Waldemar
stopped him with a brief inquiry as to whether the apartments in
question formed part of the Princess's suite, or of Prince Leo's. On
receiving an answer in the negative, he declared very decidedly, "Then
Dr. Fabian will occupy them at once." That same day the corridor which
ran close by, where the servants were constantly passing up and down,
was closed, and the order given that in future they were to go round by
the other staircase, in order not to disturb the Doctor by running to
and fro--and so the matter was settled.

The Princess said no word when informed of these occurrences. She had
laid it down as a rule never to contradict her son in trifles. Other
rooms were immediately prepared for her brother and niece. Still it was
natural that she should look upon poor Fabian, the innocent cause of
this mishap, with no very friendly eyes. She never made this apparent,
it is true, for both she herself and the whole Castle soon came to know
that Waldemar was exceedingly sensitive on the subject of his old
tutor, and that, though he claimed little attention for himself, any
failure of respect towards the Doctor would be most sharply reproved by
him. This was almost the only point on which he asserted his right to
command; but on this head he spoke so emphatically that every one, from
the Princess down to the domestics, treated Dr. Fabian with the utmost
consideration.

It was no very hard task to be polite to the quiet, retiring man, who
was always so modest and courteous, who stood in nobody's way, required
but very little attendance, and showed himself grateful for the
smallest service. He was rarely seen except at table, for he spent the
whole day over his books, and his evenings generally in the company of
his old pupil, with whom he seemed on the most intimate footing. "He is
the only being for whom Waldemar has any regard," the Princess said to
her brother, when she explained to him the change in his quarters. "We
must respect this whim, though I really do not understand what he can
see in this tiresome professor. Formerly he used altogether to ignore
the man, and now he makes quite a pet of him."

However it may have come about, the complete change in his
circumstances had exercised an unmistakable influence on Dr. Fabian.
His timidity and modesty were conspicuous as ever; they were too deeply
ingrained in his nature ever to be eradicated; but the anxious,
depressed look, which had clouded his face of old, had disappeared with
all that was painful in his position. He had grown stronger, healthier
of aspect than in former days. The years spent at the University, and
his subsequent travels, may have helped to transform the sickly, shy,
neglected tutor into a well-bred man, whose pale but winning
countenance and low sweet-toned voice impressed every one favourably,
and whose timidity alone prevented him from appearing everywhere to
advantage.

The Doctor had a visitor, a rare occurrence with him. By his side on
the sofa sat no less a person than the Government Assessor, Herr Hubert
of L----, most peacefully minded on this occasion and indulging in no
dreams of arrest. That former fatal error of his was precisely what had
led to the acquaintanceship. Dr. Fabian had shown himself the one
friend and consoler in the deluge of troubles which had poured down on
the Assessor's devoted head when once the thing became known. This
happened all too soon. Gretchen had been 'heartless enough,' as Hubert
expressed it, to relate the story in fullest detail to her friends in
L----. The tale of the master of Wilicza's intended arrest went the
round of the whole town; and, if no formal report of the affair was
laid before the President, that magnate soon got to hear of it, and the
over zealous official received a sharply worded piece of advice to be
more prudent in future, and next time he was seeking to lay hands on
secret Polish emissaries not to fix on a great German landowner, on
whose attitude so much might depend. The incident was known, too, in
Wilicza. Waldemar himself had told the Princess--the whole
neighbourhood knew of it, and wherever the unfortunate Assessor put in
an appearance, he was met by covert allusions or open taunts.

On the very day following his misadventure he had called on Herr
Nordeck to offer his apologies, but had not found that gentleman at
home. The Doctor, though himself an offended party, had behaved with
generosity on this occasion. He received the crestfallen Hubert,
consoled him to the best of his ability, and undertook to make
his excuses for him. But the Assessor's contrition was neither
of great depth nor duration. He possessed far too great a dose of
self-importance to attain to any true knowledge of his own merits; and,
like any steel spring, rebounded into his former position, so soon as
the pressure was withdrawn. The general derision annoyed and hurt him,
but his confidence in himself was in no degree shaken by it. Any one
else after such a misfortune would have kept as quiet as possible, in
order to let the remembrance of it die away, and would certainly not,
for some time to come, have eagerly undertaken similar tasks. This,
however, was precisely what Hubert did with a feverish zeal. The fixed
idea had taken possession of him that he must make good his fiasco and
show his colleagues, the President, and all L----, that,
notwithstanding what had occurred, his intelligence was, beyond all
doubt, of a superior order. It was absolutely necessary now that he
should capture a couple of conspirators, or unearth a plot, no matter
how or where; it grew to be, in some sort, a question of life or death
with him, and he was constantly in pursuit of the object he had set
himself to attain.

Wilicza still remained the focus of his observations; Wilicza, which in
L---- was well known to be dangerous ground, and yet over which no hold
could be obtained! There seemed less chance than ever of getting at the
truth, for it was evident that all hopes founded on the master's
presence must be given up. He was, although a German, entirely in the
hands of his Polish relations, and if not a consenting party, at least
indifferent to their operations. This conduct, which was very generally
condemned in L----, found its severest judge in the Assessor. In a like
position, how much more energetically would he have acted, how he at a
blow would have extinguished and defeated their secret intrigues! He
would have been a shining example of loyalty to the whole province,
would have earned the gratitude of the State and the admiration of the
world in general. However, as he was not lord of Wilicza, nor even
Counsellor as yet, no choice was left him but to set to work to
discover the conspiracy which assuredly existed. To this aim and object
all his thoughts and endeavours now tended.

There was indeed no mention of such matters in the talk between the two
gentlemen. The good-natured Dr. Fabian must not be allowed to perceive
that this visit to him was prompted by a burning desire to effect an
entrance into the Castle. The Assessor had, therefore, sought a pretext
in a subject which was certainly one of interest to him, but which he
could very well have introduced at the steward's house, where he and
Fabian occasionally met.

"I have a favour to ask of you, Doctor," he began, after a few words of
greeting and preface had been spoken, "a little claim to make on your
kindness. It is not exactly a personal matter, but one concerning the
Frank family at whose house you frequently visit. As Herr Nordeck's
former tutor, you are no doubt acquainted with French?"

"I speak it certainly," answered the Doctor; "but I have got rather out
of practice during the last few years. Herr Nordeck does not like the
language, and here at Wilicza every one pays us the attention of
speaking German to us exclusively."

"Yes, yes, practice!" interrupted the Assessor. "That is just what
Fräulein Margaret wants. She spoke French very nicely when she came
back from school a few years ago, but here in the country she has no
opportunity for it. I was going to ask if you would occasionally read,
or hold a little conversation in French with the young lady. You have
plenty of time, and you would confer a great obligation on me."

"On you, Herr Hubert?" asked Fabian, amazed. "I must confess to feeling
some surprise that such a proposition should come from you rather than
from Herr Frank, or the Fräulein herself."

"There are good reasons for it," said Hubert, with dignity. "You may
possibly have already remarked--I make no secret of it--that I cherish
certain wishes and intentions which may be realised at no very distant
date. In a word, I look on the young lady as my betrothed."

The Doctor suddenly stooped to pick up a sheet of paper which lay on
the floor, and which he now scrutinised attentively although it bore no
writing. "I congratulate you," he said, laconically.

"Oh, for the present I must decline to accept congratulations," smiled
the Assessor, with indescribable self-complacency. "There has been no
avowal of our sentiments as yet, though I think I may safely count on
her consent. To be frank, before proffering my suit, I should prefer to
obtain the Counsellorship which I am shortly expecting. Such a position
would produce a better effect, and you must know that Fräulein Frank is
a good match."

"Really?"

"An excellent match. The steward is a rich man, there can be no doubt
of that. Think of all the money he must have made here in twenty years,
what with his salary and his percentage on everything! It is a positive
fact that, on leaving his post, he means to buy and settle down on a
place of his own, and I know that he is realising capital to a
considerable amount with that intention. Fräulein Margaret and her
brother, who is now studying at the school of agriculture, are the only
children. I can count on a fair dowry and a snug little fortune to be
inherited by-and-by. Added to this, the young lady herself is a most
amiable, charming girl, whom I adore."

"Added to this!" repeated the Doctor, in a low tone, but with a
bitterness most unusual to him. His murmured exclamation escaped the
Assessor, who went on with an air of great importance.

"Frank has spared nothing in the education of his children. His
daughter was for a long time at one of the first establishments in
P----, and there acquired all that a lady need know--much to my
satisfaction, for you will easily understand, Doctor, that, looking to
my future position, it is indispensable that my wife should be a person
of cultivated mind. It will be required of us to appear in society, and
to entertain at home, and therefore I feel it a duty even now to see
that such accomplishments as pianoforte playing and French are not laid
aside and forgotten. If you would be so good, therefore, in regard to
the latter ..."

"With pleasure, if Herr Frank and his daughter wish it," said Fabian,
in a constrained tone.

"Certainly they wish it, but it was I more especially who counted on
your kind help," declared Hubert, who was evidently very proud of his
bright idea. "When Fräulein Margaret was complaining not long ago that
she had very nearly forgotten her French, her father hit on the plan of
having the master of languages out from the town occasionally. Just
imagine! a young Frenchman who would begin making love to his pupil at
the very first lesson! Frank's head is always running on his farming
and his accounts, and he does not trouble himself with such things, but
I was more prudent. I would not have that young Frenchman there so
often, playing the gallant with the girl, for anything; but a man of
more advanced age, like yourself ..."

"I am thirty-seven, sir," the Doctor interrupted him.

"Oh, never mind, that has nothing to do with it," said Hubert, smiling.
"I should be quite easy with you--but I should really have taken you to
be older! Tell me though, Doctor, what made you bring such a quantity
of books with you as you have here? What are you studying? Pedagogical
science, I suppose. May I look?"

He rose, and was going towards the writing-table, but Dr. Fabian was
quicker than he. With a rapid movement, almost betokening alarm, he
threw a newspaper over some bound volumes lying on the table, and
placed himself before them.

"Only a hobby of mine," said he, a vivid flush mounting to his cheeks.
"Historical studies."

"Oh, historical studies!" repeated the Assessor. "Well, then, I must
inquire whether you know Professor Schwarz, the great authority on such
matters. He is my uncle. But, of course, you must know him. He is on
the staff of the University of J----, where Herr Nordeck studied."

"I have that pleasure," said Fabian, rather dejectedly, with a glance
at the newspaper.

"How should you not?" cried the Assessor. "My uncle is a celebrity, an
intellect of the very first order! We have every reason to be proud of
his relationship, though our family can boast many a well-sounding
name. Now I do not consider that I disgrace it myself!"

The Doctor still stood anxiously on his guard before his writing-table,
as though to ensure himself against any attempt at robbery or violence
on the part of the Assessor, but that gentleman was now far too deeply
absorbed by the importance of his family in general, and by his uncle's
celebrity in particular, to pay any special attention to the scribbling
of an insignificant tutor. Nevertheless he felt himself called on to
say something polite.

"But it is extremely creditable for laymen to take an interest in such
studies," he remarked, condescendingly. "I only fear that you cannot
have the necessary leisure for them here. There must be a great deal of
stir in the Castle, a continual coming and going of all sorts of
people, is there not?"

"It may be so," replied Fabian, unsuspiciously, and without an inkling
of the man[oe]uvre executed by his visitor; "but Waldemar, knowing my
bent, has been so kind as to choose for me the most secluded and
quietest rooms."

"Naturally, naturally!" Hubert was standing at the window now, trying
to take a thorough survey of the place. "But I should fancy that such
an old building as this Wilicza, dating back through many centuries,
must in itself have a great interest for you, with its various
historical reminiscences. All these halls, staircases, and galleries!
and what immense cellars there must be below! Were you ever in the
cellars?"

"In the cellars?" asked the Doctor, in much astonishment. "No,
certainly not. What should I be doing there?"

"_I_ should go down," said the Assessor. "I have a fancy for such old
vaults, as indeed for everything that is curious. By-the-by, is the
late Herr Nordeck's collection of arms still complete? They say he had
a most extravagant mania for such things, and that he got together
hundreds of the finest rifles and other weapons."

"You must ask his son!" Dr. Fabian replied with a shrug. "I own I have
not yet been in the armoury."

"That will be on the other side of the house," observed Hubert, taking
his bearings with all the keenness of a detective. "According to
Frank's description it must be a dark, uncanny sort of place, like
everything about Wilicza indeed. Have not you heard that the house is
haunted? You have not yourself noticed anything unusual, out of the
common, at night, I suppose?"

"I sleep at night," replied the Doctor, tranquilly, but with a slight
smile at his visitor's superstition.

The Assessor cast an appealing glance towards Heaven. This man, whom
accident had placed in the very heart of the place, saw and heard
nothing of what was going on around him. He had not visited the
cellars; he had not even been in the armoury, and at night he slept! No
information could be extracted from this simple bookworm. Hubert could
see that, so after a few polite speeches he took his leave and left the
room.

He went slowly along the corridor. On his arrival a servant had
received, and led him to the Doctor's study; but now on his way back he
was alone, alone in this 'nest of conspiracy,' which now, in the broad
daylight, with its carpeted galleries and stairs, certainly appeared as
secure and dignified in its repose as the most loyal home of the most
loyal subject. But the Assessor was not to be deluded by appearances.
Right and left he scented those plots which unfortunately escaped his
grasp. There was a door which had a suspicious look, he thought. It
stood in the shade of a colossal pillar, and was strongly and deeply
encased in the wall. This door possibly led to a back staircase, or
into a secret gallery, possibly even below into the cellars which
Hubert's fancy at once peopled with troops of traitors and filled with
concealed stacks of arms. Should he press the latch? At the worst, he
could allege a mistake, could say he had lost himself in the Castle's
intricate ways ... perhaps the key to all its secrets lay here....
Suddenly the door opened, and Waldemar Nordeck stepped out. The
Assessor sprang back. Just Heaven! for the second time he had nearly
fallen foul of the master of Wilicza. One glance through the open chink
showed him that the place he had held to be such dangerous ground was
that gentleman's bedroom. Waldemar passed him with a very cool bow, and
went on to Dr. Fabian's apartments. Hubert saw that, in spite of his
apology, this 'suspicious character' had not forgiven him. The
consciousness of this and the shock of the unexpected meeting had, for
the present, robbed him of all desire for further discoveries, and a
servant just then appearing on the staircase, no alternative was left
him but at once to make his way out.

Meanwhile Waldemar had gone in to his old tutor, who was still standing
at the writing-table, busy putting in order the books and papers he had
lately screened from the Assessor's curious gaze. The young man went up
to him.

"Well, what news?" he asked. "You have had letters and newspapers from
J----. I saw them when I sent you the packet over."

The Doctor looked up. "Oh, Waldemar," he said in a grievous tone, "why
did you almost force me to bring my work and quiet studies before the
public? I resisted from the first, but you went on urging and
persuading me until the book appeared."

"Of course I did. What use was it to yourself, or to any one else while
it was lying shut up in that drawer? But what has happened? Your
'History of Teutonism' was received in learned circles with a favour
far beyond our expectations. The first recognition of its worth came
from J----, from Professor Weber, and I should think _his_ opinion
would be decisive on such a subject."

"I thought so too," replied Fabian, despondingly. "I was so proud and
happy at receiving praise from such a mouth, but that is just what has
roused Professor Schwarz--you know him, don't you?--to attack me and my
book in quite an unprecedented manner. Just look at this."

He held out the newspaper to him. Nordeck took it and read the
paragraph through coolly. "This is nothing but a charming specimen of
spitefulness. The end is especially neat. 'We hear that this new
celebrity just discovered by Professor Weber was for a long time tutor
to the son of one of our greatest landed proprietors, and that his
system of education was attended by no very brilliant result.
Notwithstanding this, the influence of the distinguished pupil we speak
of may have had something to do with our friend's exaggerated
appreciation of a work by which an ambitious dilettante hopes to force
his way into the ranks of scientific men!'"

Waldemar threw down the paper. "Poor Doctor! How often will you be made
to suffer for having brought up such a monster as myself! In truth,
your system of education has as little to do with my unamiable
character as my influence had with Weber's review of your book; but in
these exclusive circles they will never forgive you for having been a
private tutor, even though you should one day mount into a Professor's
chair."

"Good Heavens, who ever dreams of such a thing!" exclaimed the Doctor,
fairly frightened at so bold a notion. "Not I, certainly, and therefore
it hurts me all the more to be accused of ambition, and of intrusively
thrusting myself forward, merely because I have written a scientific
book which keeps strictly to the matter in hand, offends no one,
interferes with no one ..."

"And moreover is of remarkable merit," interrupted Waldemar. "I should
have thought you would have come round to that belief yourself when
Weber took up the cudgels for you so decidedly. You know he does not
allow himself to be influenced, and you used to think him an
indisputable authority, to whom you looked up in veneration."

"Professor Schwarz is an authority too."

"Yes, but an atrabilious one who admits no one's importance but his
own. What the deuce made you hit on this Teutonic theme? That is _his_
province--_he_ has written on that, and woe to the man who lays his
finger on it. That man's work is condemned beforehand. Don't look so
discouraged. It is not becoming in a recently discovered celebrity.
What would Uncle Witold, with his sovereign contempt for the old
'heathen rubbish,' have said to Weber's discovery? I think you would
have been treated rather more respectfully than was, I regret to say,
the case. You made a great sacrifice in remaining with me."

"Do not speak so, Waldemar," said the Doctor, with a touch of
indignation. "I well know on whose side the sacrifice is now! Who
obstinately insisted upon keeping me with him when I could be of no
further use to him, and yet refused to accept the smallest service
which was likely to take me from my books? Who gave me the means to
devote myself solely to study, so that I could gather together and set
in order the scattered knowledge I possessed? Who almost compelled me
to accompany him on his travels, because my health was shaken by
constant work? The hour in which your Norman injured me was a blessed
one for me. It has brought me all I ever hoped or wished for from
life."

"Then you wished for very little," said Waldemar, impatiently--he was
evidently anxious to turn the conversation into another channel. "But
one thing more. I met that gifted representative of the L---- police
wandering about the Castle just now. He had been here with you, and I
see him continually over yonder at the manor farm. He can have no
object in visiting us now that we have proved ourselves beyond
suspicion. What is he always hanging about Wilicza for?"

Fabian looked down in much embarrassment. "I don't know, but I imagine
that his frequent visits to the steward's house have a purely personal
motive. He called on me to-day."

"And you received him with the utmost friendliness? Doctor, you are a
living impersonation of the doctrines of Christianity. To him who
smites you on the right cheek, you will meekly turn the left. I believe
you would not hesitate a moment to render Professor Schwarz an
important service, if it were in your power. But beware of this
Assessor, with his frantic mania for arresting people. He is on the
hunt for conspirators again, you may be sure; and limited as his
intelligence may be, chance might for once play the right cards into
his hands. It would not be difficult here at Wilicza."

The last words were spoken in such a tone of angry annoyance that the
Doctor let fall the first volume of his 'History of Teutonism,' which
he had just taken up.

"You have made some unpleasant discovery?" he asked. "Worse even than
you expected. I thought so, though you have said so little about it."

Waldemar had sat down, and was leaning his head on his hand.

"You know that I am not fond of talking of worries so long as I have
not mastered them; and besides, I wanted time to look about me. What
guarantee had I that, in representing matters to me as he did, the
steward was not prompted by some interest of his own, that he was not
exaggerating and distorting facts? One can only trust to one's own
judgment in these things, and I have been exercising mine during the
last few weeks. Unfortunately, I find every word confirmed which Frank
wrote to me. So far as his supremacy extends, there is order, and hard
enough it must be for him to maintain it; but on the other estates, on
the other farms, and worst of all in the forests--well, I was prepared
to find things in a bad way, but such an utter chaos I really did not
expect!"

Fabian had pushed his books and papers to one side, and was following
Waldemar's words with anxious sympathy and attention. The gloomy look
on his old pupil's face seemed to cause him some uneasiness.

"Uncle Witold always imagined that my Polish estates could be managed
from a distance," went on Nordeck, "and unfortunately he brought me up
in that belief. I disliked Wilicza. For me the place had none but
bitter memories; it reminded me of the sad breach between my parents,
of my own joyless early childhood. I was accustomed to look on Altenhof
as my home; and later on, when I intended coming, when I ought to have
come, something else held me back---- The penalty for all this has to
be paid now. The twenty years of official mismanagement during my
guardian's time had worked mischief enough; but the worst has come to
pass in the last four years under the Baratowski régime. It is
altogether my own fault. Why have I never taken any interest in the
property? Why did I adopt that unfortunate habit of my uncle's of
putting faith in every report which stood on paper in black and white.
Now I am, as it were, sold and betrayed on my own land."

"Your majority was fixed at so early a date," said the Doctor,
soothingly; "those three years at the University were indispensable to
your mental culture and improvement, and when we determined on giving
twelve months to travelling, we had no suspicion of how matters stood
here. We set our faces homeward so soon as you received the steward's
letter, and you, with your energy, will, I am sure, find yourself equal
to any emergency."

"Who knows?" said Waldemar, gloomily. "The Princess is my mother, and
she and Leo are quite dependent on me. It is that which ties my hands.
If I once let it come to a serious rupture, they will have to leave
Wilicza. Rakowicz would be their only refuge. I will not expose them,
or at any rate my brother, to such a humiliation. And yet a stop must
be put to all this, especially to the doings in the Castle itself. You
suspect nothing? That I believe, but _I_ know it. I only wanted to get
a clear view of the state of affairs first. Now I shall speak to my
mother."

A long pause ensued. Fabian did not venture to reply. He knew that when
his friend's face took that expression, no trifling matters were on
hand. At last, however, he got up and went over to him.

"Waldemar," he asked in a low tone, laying his hand on the young man's
shoulder, "what happened yesterday, when you were out hunting?"

Waldemar looked up. "When I was out hunting? Nothing. What made you
think of that?"

"You seemed so thoroughly out of sorts when you came back. I heard some
allusions at dinner to a dispute between you and Prince Baratowski."

"No, no," said Nordeck, indifferently. "Leo was a little huffed,
because I had treated his favourite horse rather roughly; but the thing
was of no consequence. We have settled it already."

"It was something else, then?"

"Yes--something else."

"Waldemar, the other day the Princess called me your one confidant. I
might have replied that you had never need of a confidant. It may be
that I stand somewhat closer to you than other people, but you never
open your mind to me. Is it absolutely necessary that you should bear
all, fight through all alone?"

Waldemar smiled, but it was a cold, cheerless smile. "You must take me
as I am. But what is there now to make you anxious? With all the worry
and the annoyances which come pouring in upon me on all sides, I have
reason enough to be out of sorts."

The Doctor shook his head. "It is not that. Such things may irritate
and annoy you, but your present frame of mind is a very different one.
I have never seen you so but once, Waldemar--that time at Altenhof ..."

"Pray spare me these reminiscences, sir," Waldemar broke in so harshly
and abruptly that Fabian recoiled; then, recovering himself quickly, he
added far more mildly, "I am sorry you, too, should feel the effects of
the vexation and harass this Wilicza causes me. It was selfish of me to
bring you. You should have returned to J----, at least until I had
established some sort of order here, and until I could have offered you
a peaceful asylum."

"Nothing would have induced me to let you come alone," Fabian declared
in his gentle voice, but with a decision of manner most unusual to him.

Waldemar held out his hand to him, as if to ask pardon for his former
vehemence. "I know it, but do not torment yourself any more about me,
or I shall really regret having spoken openly to you. You have enough
to do with your own affairs. When you write to J---- again, remember me
to Professor Weber, and tell him I am about to make a practical
illustration of your book, and to impress on my Slavonic lands the
stamp of the Teuton. It is much needed here at Wilicza. Good-bye."

He went. Dr. Fabian looked after him, and sighed. "Impenetrable and
hard as a rock directly one approaches that one subject; and yet I know
that he has never got over the old trouble, and never will. I fear the
unhappy influence, to escape which we so long avoided Wilicza, is again
at work. Waldemar may deny it as he will--I saw it plainly when he came
home from hunting yesterday--he is under the old spell again."




                              CHAPTER VI.


That evening perfect quiet and stillness reigned in Wilicza, in
contrast to the bustle and stir of the preceding day, when the whole
place had swarmed with guests. On the return from the hunt a great
supper had been served which lasted far on into the night, and most of
the guests had slept at the Castle, leaving early in the morning. Count
Morynski and Leo had gone away, too, on a visit to a neighbouring
château. They would not return for several days; but Wanda had remained
to keep her aunt company.

The two ladies were therefore on this evening alone in the
drawing-room. It was already lighted up, and the curtains had been
closely drawn; no sign was to be seen within these walls of the fierce
November storm raging without. The Princess was seated on a sofa; but
the young Countess had risen from her chair, pushing it hastily back as
though in annoyance, and was pacing uneasily up and down the room.

"Wanda, I do beg of you to spare me these Cassandra-like warnings,"
said the elder lady. "I tell you again, your judgment is warped by your
antipathy to Waldemar. Does it necessarily follow that he is our enemy,
because you choose to remain on a war-footing with him."

Wanda stopped in her walk, and looked darkly across at the speaker.
"You will one day regret having treated my warnings with ridicule,
aunt," she replied. "I persist in my opinion. You are mistaken in your
son. He is neither so blind nor so indifferent as you and every one
else believe."

"Instead of these vague prophecies, why not say clearly and distinctly
what it is you really fear?" said the Princess. "You know that in such
a case as this I do not care for people's views and fancies. I require
proofs. What has suggested to you this suspicion to which you cling so
obstinately? Tell me what Waldemar really said to you yesterday when
you met him at the forester's station."

Wanda was silent. That meeting by the forest lake--not at the station,
as she had thought fit to state to her aunt--had furnished her with no
actual proof for her assertions, for Waldemar had admitted nothing, and
no consideration would have induced her to repeat the details of her
conversation with him. She could only allege that strange instinct
which from the first had guided her in her appreciation of his
character, had led her to see clearly where even her aunt's penetration
was at fault; but she well knew that she could not cite her instincts
and presentiments without calling up a pitying smile on her aunt's
face.

"We said very little to each other," she replied at length; "but I
heard enough to convince me that he knows more than he ought."

"Very possibly," said the Princess, with perfect composure; "we must
have been prepared for that sooner or later. I doubt that Waldemar has
drawn inferences from any observations of his own; but over at the
manor-farm they are sure to have whispered enough in his ear to put him
on the alert. He has more to do with them than I like. He knows just
what the steward knows, and what is no secret to any one in L----,
namely, that we hold with our own people; but he has no deeper insight
than the others; we have taken our precautions to prevent that.
Besides, his whole conduct up to the present time tends to show that he
is indifferent on the subject, as indeed he can afford to be, seeing
that it does not concern him personally in the very least. In any case,
this son of mine possesses a sufficient sense of decorum to withhold
him from compromising his nearest relations. I put that to the test on
the subject of Frank's resignation. It was displeasing to him, I know,
and yet he did not hesitate to range himself on my side, because I had
gone too far for him to undo my work without openly disavowing me. I
shall take care that in more serious matters he shall find himself
equally fettered, should it ever occur to him to play the master, or
the German."

"You will not listen to me," said Wanda, resignedly. "Let the future
decide which of us two is right. But I have a request to make, dear
aunt. You will not object to my leaving early to-morrow morning?"

"So soon? but it was agreed that your father should come back here to
fetch you!"

"I only remained to have a little quiet talk with you on this subject.
Nothing else would have detained me at Wilicza. It was useless, I see;
so let me go now."

The Princess shrugged her shoulders. "You know, my dear, how glad I
always am to have you with me; but I frankly confess that after our
very disagreeable dinner to-day, I shall put no obstacle in the way of
your speedy departure. You and Waldemar hardly exchanged a word. I was
forced to keep up a conversation with Dr. Fabian the whole time, in
order to break the painful _gêne_ of the situation. If you can exercise
no control over yourself in these inevitable meetings, it will be
really better that you should go."

In spite of the highly ungracious manner in which the permission was
granted, the young Countess drew a breath of relief, as though a load
were lifted from her.

"Well, then, I will send word to papa that he will find me at home at
Rakowicz, and that he need not make the round by Wilicza," said she,
quickly. "You will allow me to use your writing-table for a few
minutes?"

The Princess nodded assent. Truth to say, she had on this occasion no
objection to her niece's departure, for she was tired of standing
perpetually between her and Waldemar, on the watch to ward off a scene,
or a positive rupture. Wanda went into her aunt's study--which was
only separated from the drawing-room by a heavy portière, half drawn
back--and sat down at the writing-table. She had hardly written the
first words when the door of the salon was quickly opened and a firm,
steady step, audible even on the soft carpet, made her pause in her
work. Immediately afterwards Waldemar's voice was heard in the next
room.

The Countess slowly dropped her pen. Here in the study she could not
possibly be seen, and she did not feel it incumbent on her to announce
her presence, so she sat motionless, leaning her head on her hand. Not
a word of what passed in the drawing-room escaped her.

The Princess, too, had looked up in surprise at her son's entrance; it
was not his custom to visit her at this hour. Waldemar always spent the
evenings in his own rooms with Dr. Fabian. It seemed, however, that an
exception was to be made to-day, for after a few words of greeting he
took a seat by his mother's side, and began to speak of yesterday's
hunt.

For some minutes the conversation turned on indifferent topics.
Waldemar had taken up an album of water-colour sketches which lay on
the table, and was turning over the pages, while the Princess leaned
back among the sofa cushions.

"Have you heard that your steward is intending to become a landed
proprietor?" she remarked, carelessly. "He is seriously occupied now,
looking out for a place in the neighbourhood. His situation at Wilicza
must have been a lucrative one, for so far as I know Frank had no
fortune when he came here."

"He has had an excellent income for the last twenty years," observed
Waldemar, without looking up from the pages. "With his quiet way of
living he can hardly have spent the half."

"Added to which, he has no doubt taken care of his own interests in all
things, great and small. But enough of this. I wanted to ask you if you
have thought of any one to replace him?"

"No."

"Well, then, I have a proposal to make to you. The tenant at Janowo
cannot keep on his farm; he has fallen into distress through no fault
of his own, and is obliged to take a dependent situation again. I think
he would be a most suitable person for the stewardship of Wilicza."

"I think not," said Waldemar, very quietly. "The man goes about drunk
the whole day long, and has ruined the place he has leased entirely by
his own had conduct. He has not a shadow of an excuse."

The Princess bit her lips. "Who told you so? The steward, I suppose."

The young man was silent. His mother went on in a tone of some
irritation.

"I do not, of course, wish to influence you in the choice of the
persons you employ; but, in your own interest, I must warn you not to
place such implicit faith in Frank's calumnies. The farmer would be an
inconvenient successor, that is why he intrigues against him."

"Hardly that," replied Waldemar, as calmly as before, "for he is
already aware that I do not intend to give him a successor. The two
German inspectors will amply suffice to look after all the details of
the concern, and as to the management in chief, I shall take that in
hand myself."

The Princess started. His words seemed to take her breath away.
"Yourself? That is new to me!"

"It should not be so. We have always looked forward to a time when I
should take possession of my estates. That time has been deferred,
owing to my stay at the University and my absence abroad; but the plan
has never been given up. I know enough of farming and forestry--my
guardian saw to that. I shall doubtless have some trouble in getting
used to the local customs and affairs, but Frank will be at hand to
help me till the spring."

He made these remarks in a nonchalant tone, as though he were saying
the most natural things in the world, and appeared so absorbed in his
study of the water-colour sketches that he did not notice his mother's
consternation. She had raised herself from her negligent attitude, and
was looking keenly and fixedly at him, but with no better success than
her niece had met with on the preceding day--nothing was to be read in
that countenance.

"It is strange that you have never let fall a hint of this resolve of
yours," she observed. "You led us all to believe that you were only
going to pay us a short visit."

"I only intended paying a short visit at first, but I see that the hand
of the master is wanted here. More than this," he went on after a
pause, "I have something to say to you, mother."

He shut the book, and threw it down on the table. Now for the first
time it occurred to the Princess that Wanda's instinct had, perhaps,
after all, seen more clearly in this case than her own penetrating and
usually unfailing glance. She felt the storm coming, but she at once
prepared to meet it, and the resolved expression of her face showed
beyond a doubt that, in any struggle with her, her son would have a
hard fight of it.

"Say on, then," she said, coldly. "I am ready to listen."

Waldemar had risen now and fixed his eyes sternly upon her. "When, four
years ago, I offered you Wilicza as a home, I felt bound to give my
mother a well-defined position as mistress of the Castle. The estates,
however, remained my property, I suppose?"

"Has any one ever disputed it?" asked the Princess. "I imagine no one
has ever raised a doubt as to your right to your estates."

"No, but I see the consequences now of leaving them for years in
Baratowski and Morynski hands."

The Princess rose now in her turn, and faced her son with great dignity
of demeanour.

"What is the meaning of this? Do you wish to make me responsible for
the administration of your affairs not being such as you would wish?
Blame your guardian, who for a quarter of a century allowed the
officials to run riot here in the most incredible manner. The evil
effects of their neglect have not escaped my notice; but you must
settle such accounts with the persons in your employ, my son, and not
with me."

"With the persons in _my_ employ?" cried Waldemar, bitterly. "I think
Frank is the only one who acknowledges me as master. The others, one
and all, are in your service; and though perhaps they would hardly
venture to refuse me obedience, I know well enough that any command of
mine would be met by a host of expedients and intrigues, by a secret
but active opposition, should you think proper to put your veto on it."

"You are dreaming, Waldemar," said the Princess, with a pitying and
superior smile. "I did not think you were so completely under the
steward's influence; but really, I must beg of you to set some bounds
to your credulity in matters relating to your mother."

"And I beg of you to give up the old attempt at stinging me into
compliance," interrupted her son. "Once, it is true, you were able to
mould me as you wished by setting before me fear of a foreign influence
which might assume control over my actions; but since I have really had
a will of my own, it has become immaterial to me whether I seem to
possess one or not. I have been silent for weeks, precisely because I
did not altogether put faith in the steward's reports. I wanted to see
with my own eyes--but now I ask you: Who has delivered over the farms,
which, four years ago were all in German hands, to countrymen of yours
on absurdly disadvantageous terms, without any guarantee, any security,
against the loss they have caused, the damage they have done the land?
Who has introduced into the woods and forests a set of men who may
render eminent services to your national interests, but who have cut
down my revenues by one half? Who has made the steward's position here
so unbearable that he has no choice but to go? Fortunately, he
possessed energy enough to call me to the rescue, or I should, in all
probability, have remained away much longer, and it was high time for
me to come. You have recklessly sacrificed everything to your family
traditions; my officials, my fortune, my position even, for people
naturally suppose that it has been done with my consent. The property
was badly managed in my guardian's time; but no permanent harm was
done, for the estates possess almost inexhaustible resources in
themselves; the last four years, however, under your rule, have brought
them to the very verge of ruin. You must have known it. You are acute
enough to see whither all this must finally lead, and energetic enough
to put a stop to it, if you had really wished to do so; but such
considerations could, of course, have no weight. You had only one aim
and object in view--to prepare Wilicza for the coming revolution."

The Princess had listened in silence, benumbed, as it were, by
amazement which grew with every minute, and was roused even more by her
son's manner than by what he said. It was not the first time such words
had been spoken within those walls. The late Herr Nordeck had often
enough reproached his wife with recklessly offering up all and
everything at the shrine of her family traditions; he had indeed
crushed in their birth many such schemes as those which were now ripe
for execution, but such a scene as the present could not have taken
place without the man's nature showing itself in all its brutality. He
would rage and storm, would pour forth a stream of wild threats and
abusive epithets, endeavouring so to assert his authority, but never
evoking from his proud, fearless wife any response other than a smile
of contempt. She knew that this "parvenu" possessed neither high
intelligence nor strength of character, that his hatred and
partisanship were alike based on the lowest motives; and, if anything
could equal her disdain of him, it was the indignation she felt that
such a husband should have been forced upon her. If Waldemar had
conducted himself in the same way, she would not have been in the least
surprised--the fact that he did not so conduct himself was what
confounded her. He stood before her in a calm, self-possessed attitude,
and coldly, but with telling emphasis, flung at her word after word,
proof upon proof. Yet she saw that passion was hot within him. The vein
on his temple stood out ominously swollen, and his hand buried itself
convulsively in the cushions of the chair by which he stood,--these
were the only symptoms of his inward excitement. His look and voice
betrayed nothing of it; they were completely under his control.

Some seconds passed before the Princess answered. Her pride would not
stoop to a denial or a prevarication; and, indeed, neither would have
availed. Waldemar evidently knew too much; she could no longer reckon
on his blindness, and was therefore compelled to take up a new
position.

"You exaggerate," she replied at last. "Are you so timid that you can
see a revolution brewing in your Wilicza, merely because I have
sometimes used my influence in favour of my protégé's? I regret
it, if some among them have abused my confidence and wrought you
injury, instead of doing their duty by you; but these things happen
everywhere--you are at liberty to dismiss them. What, after all, is it
you reproach me with? When I came here, the estates were, to all
intents and purposes, without a master. You took no interest in them,
cared nothing for them; so I, as your mother, considered myself
justified in taking up the reins which had fallen from your hands. It
was certainly safer for me to hold them than to trust them with your
paid agents. I have governed in my own fashion, I admit; but you were
perfectly aware that I have always sided with my own family and my own
people. I have never made a secret of it. My whole life bears witness
to the fact, and to you, I should hope, I need offer no justification
of my conduct. You are my son, as you are your father's, and the blood
of the Morynskis runs also in your veins."

Waldemar seemed about vehemently to protest against the assertion; but
again his self-command triumphed.

"It is the first time in your life you have acknowledged my share in
that noble blood," he answered, ironically; "hitherto you have only
seen--and despised--the Nordeck in me. True, you have not declared so
much in words; but do you think I cannot interpret looks? I have seen
the expression of your eyes, as they turned from Leo and your brother
to me! You have put away from you the memory of your first marriage as
of some disgrace. Happy in your position as Prince Baratowski's wife,
satisfied with the love of your youngest-born, you never gave me a
thought; when, later on, circumstances forced you to draw nearer me, it
certainly was not I myself whom you sought. I do not reproach you with
this. My father may have sinned against you in much--in so much that
you can feel no affection for his son; but we must therefore leave
altogether out of account sentiments which, once for all, do not exist
between us. I shall shortly be obliged to prove to you that no drop of
the Morynski blood runs in my veins. You may have transmitted it to
Leo, but I am made of other stuff."

"I see it," said the Princess, in a low voice; "of other than I
thought. I have never really known you."

He took no notice of her words. "You will understand, then, how it is
that I now take the management of my affairs into my own hands," he
went on. "One more question. What is the meaning of those conferences
which were held in your apartments after supper yesterday evening, and
which lasted far on through the night?"

"Waldemar, that concerns me alone," his mother answered in frigid
self-assertion. "In my own rooms, at least, I will be mistress still."

"Absolute mistress in all that relates to your own affairs, but I will
no longer give over Wilicza to serve your party aims. You hold your
meetings here. Orders are issued from hence across the frontier, and
messages are sent from out yonder to you in return. The Castle cellars
are full of arms. You have got together a perfect arsenal below
stairs."

The Princess's face turned deadly pale at the last words, but she held
her ground, heavy as was the blow. Not a muscle of her face moved as
she replied, "And why do you come to me with all this? Why not rather
go to L----, where the account of your discoveries would be most gladly
received? You have shown such eminent talent as a spy, it could not be
so very repugnant to you to turn informer!"

"Mother!" burst from the young man's lips in accents of passionate
anger, and he struck his clenched hand violently on the back of the
chair. The old fierce temper was breaking forth again, bearing down
before it all the self-control acquired so laboriously during the last
few years. His whole frame was shaken with agitation, and he looked so
menacing in his wrath that his mother involuntarily laid her hand on
the bell to summon help. This movement of hers brought Waldemar to
himself. He turned away hastily and went up to the window.

Some minutes elapsed in painful silence. The Princess already felt that
she had allowed herself to be carried too far--she, who was coolness,
prudence itself! She saw how her son wrestled with his passion, and
what the struggle cost him; but she also saw that the man who, with
such an iron energy, could by sheer force of will subdue his natural
violence, that fatal inheritance from his father, was an adversary
worthy of her.

When Waldemar again turned towards her, the paroxysm was past. He had
crossed his arms on his breast as though, forcibly to still its
heavings. His lips still worked nervously, but he had regained full
command of his voice when he spoke.

"I did not think, when at that time at C---- you entrusted my brother's
future to my generosity and sense of honour--I did not then think that
I should be incurring contumely such as this. Spy! Because I presumed
to look into the secrets of my own Castle! I might retort with a word
which would have a still worse sound. Which of us enjoys the
hospitality of Wilicza, you or I? and which of us has abused it?"

The Princess looked down. Her face was sombre and very stern.

"We will not dispute about it. I have done what right and duty
dictated, but it would be useless to endeavour to convince you of it.
What do you intend to do?"

Waldemar was silent for a moment, then he said in a low tone, but
emphasising every word: "I shall leave this to-morrow. I have business
in P---- which will detain me for a week. In that time Wilicza will be
cleared of all the illicit stores it now contains; in that time all
existing connections will be broken off, so far as the Castle is
concerned. Transport your centre of operations to Rakowicz, or where
you will, but my land shall be free of them. Immediately on my return,
a second great hunt will take place here, at which the President and
the officers in garrison at L---- will be invited to attend. As
mistress of the house you will, no doubt, be so good as to put your
name with mine to the invitations."

"Never!" declared the Princess, energetically.

"Then I shall sign them alone. In any case the guests will be invited.
It is necessary that I should at last take up a position in this matter
which is agitating the whole province. It must be known in L---- on
which side I am to be found. You are at liberty to be ill on the day in
question, or to drive over to your brother's--but I leave you to
reflect whether it will be well to make the breach between us public,
and therefore irreparable. It is still possible for us to forget this
hour and this talk. I shall never remind you of it, when once I am
persuaded that my demands have been complied with. It is for you to
decide what you will do. I have waited until Leo should be absent,
because I know that his hot temper would ill brook such a scene, and
because I wish to spare him and Count Morynski the mortification of
hearing from my mouth that which it had become absolutely necessary for
me to say. They will take it better coming from you. It is not I who
wish for a rupture."

"And if I decline to comply with the tyrannical commands you think fit
to hurl at me," said the Princess, slowly; "if, to your recognised
right of inheritance, I oppose my right as your father's widow, whom an
unjust, unprecedented will alone banished from a place which should
have been her dower-house? I know that in a court of law I should not
be able to make good my claim; but the conviction of its justice makes
me feel that here, on this ground, I have no need to yield to you, and
yield I will not. The Princess Baratowska, after what she has just
heard from your lips, would have gone with her son, gone, never to
return; but the former mistress of Wilicza maintains her right. Beware,
Waldemar. I may one day place you in such a pass that you must either
recall the arbitrary words you have just spoken, or give up your mother
and brother to an evil fate."

"Try," said Waldemar, coldly; "but do not hold me responsible for what
may then happen."

They stood face to face, their eyes fixed on each other, and it was
strange that a resemblance which had hitherto escaped all those about
them, with one single exception, should now have stood out in strong
relief. "That brow with the singularly marked vein he has from you,"
Wanda had one day said to her aunt; and there, indeed, was the same
high arch, denoting power, the same peculiar line on the temple. In her
excitement the blue vein now showed distinctly on the Princess's
forehead; while on Waldemar's it swelled forth ominously, as though all
his blood in revolt were seeking vent that way. On both faces the same
expression was stamped, that of an unbending determination, an iron
will, prepared to carry through its purposes at any cost. Now that they
were declaring war to the death, the fact that these two were mother
and son became for the first time palpable, perhaps it now for the
first time impressed itself strongly on their minds.

Waldemar went close up to the Princess, and laid his hand firmly on her
arm.

"I have left a retreat open for my mother," he said, significantly;
"but I forbid the Princess Baratowska to pursue her party machinations
on my estates. If, notwithstanding what I have said, you still persist,
if you drive me to an extremity, I too shall resort to stronger
measures--yes, if I have to give you up, one and all ..."

Suddenly he stopped. His mother felt a thrill run through him, felt
that the hand which had held hers with such an iron grasp all at once
loosed its hold and fell powerless. In extreme surprise she followed
the direction of his eyes, which were fixed, as though spell-bound, on
the study doorway. There on the threshold stood Wanda. Unable longer to
control herself, she had stepped forward, and the hasty movement had
betrayed her presence.

A flash of triumph shot from the Princess's eyes. At last the
vulnerable spot in her son's heart was found. Although in the next
instant he recovered himself, and stood inflexible and unapproachable
as before, it was too late; that one unguarded moment had betrayed his
secret.

"Well, Waldemar?" she asked, and there was a slight sneer in her voice,
"you surely are not hurt to find that Wanda has overheard our
conversation? It, in a great measure, concerned her also. At any rate
you owe it now both to her and to me to finish your sentence. You would
give us up, one and all ..."

Waldemar had retreated a step. He now stood quite in shadow, so that
his face escaped all observation.

"As Countess Morynska has overheard our conversation, no explanation is
needed. I have nothing more to add." Then, turning to his mother, he
went on----"I shall leave to-morrow morning early. You have a week in
which to decide. So much is settled between us."

Then he bowed to the young Countess, constrainedly as usual, and went.

Wanda had stood all this while on the threshold, had not yet set foot
in the drawing-room; but now she came in and, going up to her aunt,
asked in a low, but strangely agitated voice--

"Do you believe me now?"

The Princess had sunk back on the sofa. Her eyes were still fixed on
the door through which her son had departed, dreamily, as though she
could not, would not, realise the scene which had just taken place.

"I have ever judged him by his father," said she, speaking, as it were,
to herself. "The error will be avenged on us all. He has shown me now
that he is not--not such as his father was."

"He has shown you more than that. You have always been so proud,
aunt, that Leo has your features. He has inherited little of your
character--for that you must look to his brother. It was your own
energy which faced you just now, your own inflexible will--your own
look and tone even. Waldemar is more like you than ever Leo was."

Something in the young Countess's voice aroused the Princess's
attention. "And who taught you to read this character with such
unerring sureness? Was it your animosity which made you see clearly
there where we were all at fault?"

"I do not know," replied Wanda, casting down her eyes. "It was more
instinct than observation which guided me; but from the first day I
felt that we had an enemy in him."

"No matter," declared the Princess, resolutely. "He is my son; there is
no escaping that fact. You are right. Today for the first time he has
proved that he really is akin to me; but, as his mother, I will show
myself equal to him."

"What will you do?" asked Wanda.

"Accept his challenge. Do you think I shall yield to his threats? We
shall see whether he will really proceed to extremities."

"He will, depend upon it. Do not speculate on any soft relenting in
this man. He would unsparingly offer up you, Leo, all of us, to that
which he calls right."

The Princess scanned her niece's face with a long scrutinising look.
"Leo and me, perhaps," she answered; "but I know now where his strength
will fail him. I know what he will not offer up, and it shall be my
care to bring him face to face with that at the decisive moment."

Wanda looked at her aunt without grasping her meaning. She had noticed
nothing more than Waldemar's abrupt pause, which her sudden appearance
sufficiently explained, had seen his stern repellant attitude towards
his mother and herself. She could not therefore guess to what these
words alluded, and the Princess gave her no time for meditation.

"We must take a resolution," she continued. "In the first place my
brother must be told. As Waldemar leaves us early to-morrow morning,
there is no longer any reason for hastening your return. You must stay
here, and summon your father and Leo back to Wilicza without a moment's
delay. No matter what they may have on hand, the most important
business lies here. I will have your letter sent off to-day by an
express, and to-morrow they may be with us."

The young Countess obeyed. She went back into the study, and sat down
at the writing-table, quite unsuspicious, at present, of the part she
was suddenly called on to play in her aunt's plans. The childish folly,
so long done with and forgotten, acquired an importance of its own, now
that it was discovered to be neither done with nor forgotten. The
Princess could not forgive her son for having repudiated the Morynski
blood. Well, he should find his plans wrecked through a Morynska,
though, possibly, his mother would not prove that rock on which he
should split.




                              CHAPTER VII.


Dr. Fabian and Fräulein Margaret Frank sat in the steward's parlour
with an open book before them. The French studies had really begun;
but, as the master showed himself earnest and conscientious, so, in
proportion, did the pupil prove volatile and unreliable. On the
occasion of the first lesson, which had been given some days
previously, she had amused herself by putting all sorts of questions to
the Doctor, questions as to his past life, his former tutorship to Herr
Nordeck, the doings at Altenhof, and other kindred subjects. Today she
insisted upon knowing what he really was studying, and drove the
unfortunate scholar, who would on no account own to his 'History of
Teutonism,' hopelessly into a corner with her persistent inquiries.

"Had we not better begin to read, Fräulein?" said he, beseechingly. "At
this rate we shall get nothing done today. You are speaking German all
the time."

"Oh, who can think of French now!" cried Gretchen, impatiently turning
over the leaves. "My head is full of other things. Life at Wilicza is
so exciting."

"Is it? I should not have thought so," said the Doctor, patiently going
back through the pages to find the place at which they left off.

The young lady scrutinised him with the gaze of an inquisitor. "No,
Doctor? Yet you are at the best source for knowing all that has been
going on at the Castle--you, Herr Nordeck's friend and confidant!
Something has happened, that is certain, for there is a perfect
whirlwind abroad now since the young master went. Messengers are flying
continually between Wilicza and Rakowicz. First, Count Morynski comes
here, then Prince Baratowski rushes over there; and when one catches a
glimpse of our sovereign lady the Princess's awe-inspiring mien, she
looks as though the world were coming to an end without further notice.
And then, what are all these doings in the park of an evening, which
the inspector has been telling me of? They are busy bringing things, or
carrying things away. Your windows look out just on that side."

She was speaking German persistently, and the Doctor was so far led
away as to answer her in that language.

"I know nothing of it, absolutely nothing," he asserted, fidgetting
uneasily on his chair.

"That is exactly what papa says when I ask him," pouted Gretchen. "I
can't understand my father at all in this business. He snubbed the
inspector when he came in with the news, and gave him explicit orders
not to concern himself with the park any further--'Herr Nordeck did not
wish it.' Papa cannot possibly be in the plot; but I must say it looks
very like it. Don't you think so?"

"But, Fräulein, the object of my coming here will not be attained, if
your thoughts are so taken up with such things as these. I have been
here half an hour, and we have only read a page. Let us go on, pray,"
entreated the Doctor.

He pushed the book before her for the sixth time at least. She took it
at last with an air of resignation.

"Well, never mind. I see I am not to be let into the secrets; but
I shall very well find them out by myself. I can keep silence
too--implicit silence, I assure you!" Thereupon she began to read a
French poem with every appearance of great vexation, and with so
purposely false an emphasis that her teacher was driven to the verge of
distraction.

Before she had got through the second strophe, a carriage rattled into
the courtyard. It was empty; but the coachman seemed to feel himself
quite at home, for he at once set about unharnessing the horses. Next
minute one of the maids came in with the announcement that Herr Hubert
would shortly do himself the pleasure of calling at the manor-farm--he
had stayed down in the village, where he had business with the mayor,
and sent on his carriage with an inquiry as to whether he might once
again trespass on Herr Frank's hospitality.

There was nothing remarkable in this. Taking advantage of the friendly
footing on which he stood with the Frank family, the Assessor was wont
to pass the night under their roof whenever his official duties brought
him into the neighbourhood of Wilicza, and he took care that this
should happen pretty often. The steward was absent, it is true. He had
driven out on a long excursion into the country, but was expected home
in the evening; so his daughter gave orders that the carriage and
coachman should be accommodated, and sent the maid to see that all was
in readiness in the spare room.

"If the Assessor comes, there's an end to our reading," said Gretchen
to the Doctor, rather petulantly; "but he shall not stay to disturb us
long. Before five minutes are over, I shall let a hint drop of the
secret goings-on in the park. He will be sure to hurry over there at
once, and go hiding behind some tree to watch--and we shall be quit of
him."

"For Heaven's sake, do no such thing!" cried Fabian, in a tone of great
alarm; "do not send him over there! On the contrary, try and keep him
away, at any cost."

Gretchen gave a start. "Oh, Doctor, I thought you knew nothing,
absolutely nothing! What puts you in such a fright all in a moment?"

The Doctor sat with downcast eyes like a detected criminal, and sought
in vain for a loophole through which to escape. At length he looked up
frankly at the young girl--

"I am a man of peace, Fräulein, and never intrude on the secrets of
others," said he. "I do not, in truth, know what is going on at the
Castle, but that something is astir there I have been forced to remark
during the last few days. Herr Nordeck has only given me some hints of
the matter; but there can be no doubt that danger is involved in it."

"Well, it involves no danger to us," remarked Gretchen, with great
equanimity. "What if the Assessor does spring a mine under their feet?
Herr Nordeck is away, so he can't seize him; besides, he will take good
care not to meddle with your friend again, after that story of the
arrest. You are beyond suspicion; and as to the Princess and Prince
Leo ..."

"They are Waldemar's mother and brother," interposed the Doctor,
greatly agitated. "Do you not see that any blow directed against them
must strike him as well? He is the master of the Castle. He will be
held responsible for all that takes place in it."

"And quite right too," cried Gretchen, growing warm. "Why does he start
off on a journey and leave the door open to all their plots and
intrigues? Why does he aid and abet his relations?"

"He does not," asseverated Fabian; "on the contrary, he opposes their
proceedings in the most decided manner. His journey has no other
object---- But pray do not force me to speak of things which I ought
not to disclose, I am afraid, even to you. This I do know, that
Waldemar is most anxious to spare his mother and brother in every way.
On leaving, he made me promise to see and hear nothing of what was
passing at the Castle, and he has given your father similar
instructions. I heard him say to Herr Frank, 'I shall hold you
responsible for the Princess's remaining unmolested in the mean time. I
take all upon myself.' But now he is away, Herr Frank is away, and an
unlucky accident brings this Assessor Hubert over just at this time--a
man who has set his heart on making discoveries, and who will make some
if he is not hindered. I really don't know what to do!"

"This comes of concealing things from _me_," said Gretchen, reprovingly.
"If _I_ had been taken into your counsels, I should have quarrelled
with the Assessor just at the right moment, and then he would not have
come over again at present. Now I must reflect."

"Yes, do please," begged the Doctor. "You have great influence with the
Assessor. Keep him away; he must not go within a certain distance of
the Castle today."

Fräulein Margaret shook her head thoughtfully. "You don't know Hubert.
No one will be able to keep him away, if once he gets scent of the
truth; and get scent of it he will if he remains at Wilicza, for he
questions the inspector regularly each time he comes. He certainly
cannot stay here---- I know a way. I will let him make me an offer--he
begins whenever he sees me; but I never let him go on--and then I will
send him about his business. He will be in such a rage that he will
rush off back to L---- as fast as his horse can take him."

"No, I cannot allow that on any account," protested the Doctor. "Come
what may, your happiness must not be sacrificed."

"Do you imagine that my happiness depends on Herr Assessor Hubert?"
asked Gretchen, with a contemptuous curl of the lip.

Fabian imagined it, certainly. He knew from Hubert's own mouth that
that gentleman 'felt sure he could count on her consent,' but a very
natural shyness withheld him from touching further on this delicate
theme.

"One should never trifle with these things," said he, reproachfully.
"The Assessor would learn the true state of the case sooner or later,
and it would wound him deeply, perhaps alienate him for ever. No, that
shall never be."

Gretchen looked rather disconcerted. She did not understand how any one
could view the matter in so serious a light, and cared nothing at all
about alienating the Assessor for ever--but the reproach stung her
conscience, nevertheless.

"Well, there is nothing for it then but to lead him away from the right
track, and set him on a false one," she declared when she had
deliberated awhile. "But, Doctor, do you know we are taking a heavy
responsibility on ourselves! Everybody is conspiring here at Wilicza,
so I don't see why we two should not conspire in our turn; but,
strictly speaking, we shall be plotting against our own Government, if
we prevent its representative from doing his duty."

"The Assessor is not commissioned to do this," cried the Doctor, who
had suddenly risen to a pitch of heroism. "He is only following out his
own ambitious designs in coming searching about this place. Fräulein, I
give you my word that all these secret intrigues have had their day. A
stop is now to be put to them once for all. I have it from Waldemar's
own lips, and he is a man who keeps his word. We shall be doing our
countrymen no wrong by trying to prevent a most useless catastrophe,
which would be brought about by the over-zealous efforts of an official
enjoying, perhaps, not too great favour even at L----."

"Very well, we will have our plot then," said Gretchen, resolutely.
"The Assessor must go, and that before a quarter of an hour is over, or
he will be off as usual, on the hunt for conspirators. There he is
coming across the courtyard. Leave all to me, only agree with
everything I say. Now we will get the book out again."

Assessor Hubert, coming in a few minutes later, overheard the third
strophe of the French poem, and was much pleased to find that Dr.
Fabian had kept his word, and that the consort-elect of the future
Counsellor was practising those higher accomplishments which would be
indispensable to her position. He greeted the pair politely, inquired
for his excellent friend the steward, and then took the seat offered
him and began to relate the latest news from L----.

"Your old pupil had prepared a great surprise for us the other day,"
said he to Fabian, affably. "Did you hear that Herr Nordeck, as he
passed through our town, drove to the President's house, and made him
what appeared to be quite an official visit?"

"Yes, I did hear it spoken of," replied the Doctor.

"His Excellency was much gratified. To be candid, all hopes of any
overtures from that quarter had been given up. Herr Nordeck made
himself very agreeable, I believe. He even solicited from the President
a promise to be present at the next hunt held at Wilicza, and alluded
to some other invitations which will excite no less surprise."

"Did the President accept?" inquired Gretchen.

"Assuredly. His Excellency is of opinion that Heir Nordeck's
proceedings on this occasion almost amounted to a demonstration, and he
felt it his duty to give him his support. Really, Doctor, you would
greatly oblige us if you would give us a key to your friend's true
position with regard to ..."

"You will learn nothing from Dr. Fabian. He is closer than the young
master himself," put in Gretchen, who felt bound to go to her
accomplice's aid, for she saw at a glance that he was ill at ease in
his new rôle. He was, indeed, almost crushed by the consciousness of
guilt--not even the pureness of his intentions could reconcile him to
the thought that the Assessor was to be cheated, and that he was
helping to cheat him. Fräulein Margaret, however, took the matter much
more lightly. She went straight to her aim.

"Shall we have your company at supper, Herr Assessor?" she asked in an
easy tone. "You have business over at Janowo, no doubt."

"Not that I know of. Why there in particular?" replied Hubert.

"Well, I only thought--we have heard so many queer things of late,
especially within the last few days--I thought you had perhaps been
appointed to investigate matters out yonder."

The Assessor became attentive. "What is it you have heard? Pray,
Fräulein, conceal nothing from me. Janowo is one of the places we have
constantly to keep an eye upon. What do you know of it?"

The Doctor gave his chair a little imperceptible push farther off. He
appeared to himself the blackest of traitors. Gretchen, on the other
hand, showed a really alarming talent for intrigue. She related
nothing, but she allowed herself to be questioned and cross-questioned,
reporting by degrees and with the most innocent face in the world all
that had been noticed during the last few days, with this difference
alone that she transferred the scene of action to Janowo, the great
neighbouring estate which lay on the confines of Wilicza. Her plan
succeeded beyond all expectation. The Assessor took the bait as eagerly
as could be wished. He fairly hung on the girl's lips, working himself
into a state of feverish excitement, and finally sprang up from his
seat.

"Excuse me if I do not wait for Herr Frank's return, Fräulein Margaret.
I must go back as far as E---- at once, without delay ..."

"But not on foot. It is quite a mile and a half there."

"Above all no _éclat_, I entreat you!" whispered Hubert, mysteriously.
"I will leave my carriage behind. It is better I should be supposed to
be here. Pray do not expect me to supper. Good-bye, Fräulein," and with
a short and hasty salutation, he hurried out and immediately afterwards
re-crossed the courtyard.

"Now he is off to E---- to fetch the two gendarmes stationed there,"
said Gretchen to the Doctor, triumphantly; "then he will rush straight
over to Janowo, and all three of them will go prowling about the place
until far on into the night. Wilicza is safe from them."

She was not mistaken in her suppositions. It was late at night when the
Assessor returned from his expedition, which had, as she had guessed,
been undertaken in the company of the two gendarmes, and had, naturally
enough, been productive of no result. He was much out of temper and
very depressed, to say nothing of a violent cold which he had caught by
the unaccustomed exposure to the night air. Next day he was so unwell
that even Gretchen was roused to a sense of humanity. In a fit of
repentance she made tea for him, and nursed him with such care that
Hubert forgot all the discomfort he had endured. Unfortunately this
behaviour on her part confirmed him in his conviction--unalterable from
this time forth--that he was beloved beyond all telling. Dr. Fabian,
too, came over in the course of the day to see how the patient was
progressing, and showed so much anxious sympathy, such deep regret at
his indisposition, that the Assessor was touched and completely
comforted. He little knew that he owed all this attention to the
remorse of the two confederates in league against him. So he set out at
last, burdened with his cold, but with spirits much revived, on his way
back to L----.

If on that evening the Wilicza park and its environs still remained
free from all inopportune vigilance, the dwellers at the Castle had
naturally no notion to whom their thanks for such immunity were due.
About the time that Dr. Fabian and Fräulein Margaret were engaged in
concocting their plot, a family meeting had taken place in the Princess
Baratowska's apartments. Count Morynski and Leo were equipped for
travelling; their cloaks lay in the ante-room, and the carriage, which
half an hour before had brought the Count and his daughter over, still
stood in the courtyard, ready to start again. Leo and Wanda had
withdrawn into the deep recess of the centre window, and were talking
eagerly, but in a low voice, while the Princess was also carrying on a
conversation in an undertone with her brother.

"In the present state of affairs I look upon it as fortunate that
circumstances require your hasty departure," she said. "On Leo's
account it is desirable, for he would never endure to stay on at
Wilicza, if Waldemar begins to play the master. He is not capable of
controlling himself. I saw by the way in which he received my
disclosures that I should certainly be provoking a catastrophe, if I
were to insist on his remaining longer with his brother. As it is, they
will not meet for the present, and that is best."

"And you yourself will really be able to hold out here, Hedwiga?" asked
the Count.

"I must," she answered. "It is all I can do for you now. I have yielded
to the reasoning by which you describe open war with Waldemar as
useless and full of peril. We have given up Wilicza as our centre of
operations--for the time being, that is; but for you and Leo it is
still the place where messages can be sent, and whence news can be
transmitted to you in return. So much liberty, at least, I shall be
able to maintain. At the worst the Castle will still be your refuge,
should you be obliged to re-cross the frontier. Peace will not be
disturbed on this side, at all events for some time to come. When do
you think of going over?"

"Probably to-night. We shall wait at the last forester's station to
find out how and where it will be possible to cross. This evening the
last transport of arms will be sent after us; it will be left
provisionally in the forester's charge. I consider this precaution to
be urgently necessary. Who knows whether your son may not take it into
his head to search through the whole Castle on his return the day after
to-morrow?"

"He will find it clear"--the Princess clenched her hand in repressed
rage, and her lips twitched strangely--"clear as he commanded it should
be; but I swear to you, Bronislaus, he shall pay for that command and
for his tyranny towards us. I hold the means of retaliation and a
bridle wherewith to hold him in check, should he attempt to go still
greater lengths."

"You hinted something of the sort before," said the Count; "but I
really do not understand by what means you still hope to tame such a
nature. Judging by Wanda's description of the scene between you and
Waldemar, I place no faith in the power of any bridle to restrain him."

The Princess said nothing; she evidently had no wish to answer him, and
was freed from the necessity of so doing by the two young people at
that moment leaving the window recess and coming up to them.

"It is impossible to make Wanda change her mind," said Leo to his
mother. "She decidedly refuses to come to Wilicza--she will not leave
Rakowicz."

The Princess turned to her niece with an expression of great severity.

"This is folly, Wanda. It has been arranged for months that you should
come to me when your father's long-foreseen absence should occur. You
cannot, ought not to stay at Rakowicz alone. I am your natural
protector, and you will put yourself under my charge."

"Excuse me, dear aunt, I shall do nothing of the sort," replied the
young Countess. "I will not be the guest of a house whose master
conducts himself towards us in this hostile spirit. I can bear it no
better than Leo."

"Do you think it will be easy for your aunt to hold her ground here?"
asked the Count, reproachfully. "She makes the sacrifice for us,
because she wishes to keep Wilicza open as a refuge for us in case of
need, because it must not permanently be given up, and were she to go,
it would be lost to us for ever. I may well ask for equal self-denial
from you."

"But why is my presence here so necessary, so indispensable?" cried
Wanda, hardly attempting now to control her vehemence. "The
considerations which weigh with my aunt do not exist for me. Let me
stay at home, papa."

"Give way, Wanda," entreated Leo; "stay with my mother. Wilicza lies so
much nearer the frontier, we can keep up some communication far more
easily. Perhaps I may make it possible to see you once. Certainly I
hate Waldemar as bitterly as you do, now that he has openly declared
himself our enemy; but, for my sake, put a constraint on yourself and
endure him."

He had seized her hand. Wanda drew it away almost violently. "Let me
be, Leo; if you knew _why_ your mother wishes to have me with her, you
would be the first to oppose it."

The Princess knitted her brow, and quickly interfering to cut short her
niece's speech, she said, turning to the Count--

"Show your authority as her father at last, Bronislaus, and command her
to remain. She must stay at Wilicza."

The young Countess started angrily at these words, which were spoken
with great harshness. Her exasperation drove her beyond bounds.

"Well, then, if you compel me to speak out, my father and Leo shall hear
my reason. I did not at the time understand the ambiguous words you
spoke to me a little while ago, but now I know their meaning. You think
I am the only person Waldemar will not offer up, the only one who can
restrain his hand. I do not think so, for I know him better than you;
but no matter which of us is right--I will not put it to the test."

"And I would never, never endure that such an experiment should be
made," blazed out Leo. "If that was the motive, Wanda shall remain at
Rakowicz, and never set foot in Wilicza. I believed that Waldemar's old
attachment had long ago died out and was forgotten. If it is not
so--and it cannot be, or the plan would never have been imagined--I
will not leave you near him for a day."

"Make your mind easy," said Wanda, her own voice, however, sounding
anything but tranquil; "I shall not again allow myself to be used as a
mere tool, as I was in the old days at C----. I have played with this
man and with his love once, but I will not do it a second time. He has
let me feel his contempt, and I know the weight of it; yet there was
nothing worse then to arouse his scorn than the caprice of a
thoughtless child. If he were to discover a scheme, a calculation, and
I were one day to read that in his eyes--I would rather die than bear
it!"

She had allowed herself to be so carried away by her vehemence that she
forgot all those around her. Erect, with glowing cheeks and flashing
eyes, she delivered this protest with such passionate intensity of
feeling that the Count gazed at her in astonishment, and the Princess
in consternation; but Leo, who had been standing by her side, drew back
from her. He had turned very pale, and in his eyes, as he fixed them on
her steadily, enquiringly, there was more than astonishment or
consternation.

"Rather die!" he repeated. "Do you set such store by Waldemar's esteem?
Do you know so well how to read in his eyes? That is strange."

A hot flush overspread Wanda's face. She must herself have been
unconscious of this, for she cast a look of unfeigned indignation at
the young Prince, and would have answered him, but her father
interfered.

"Let us have no jealous scenes now, Leo," he said gravely. "Do you wish
to disturb our parting, and to offend Wanda just when you are about to
leave her? As you now insist upon it, she shall remain at Rakowicz. My
sister will yield to you on this point, but do not again wound Wanda by
any such suspicions. Time presses, we must say farewell."

He drew his daughter to him, and now in the moment of separation all
the tenderness which this grave, melancholy man cherished in his heart
towards his only child, broke forth. He clasped her to him with
profound and painful emotion. But the Princess waited in vain for her
son to approach her. He stood with a dark frown on his overcast face,
looking down at the ground, and biting his lips until they bled.

"Well, Leo," remonstrated his mother, at last, "will you not say
good-bye to me?"

The words startled him from his brooding. "Not now, mother. I will
follow my uncle later. He will not want me at first; I shall stay here
a few days longer."

"Leo!" cried the Count angrily, while Wanda, raising herself from his
arms, looked up in indignant surprise. These marks of reprobation only
served, however, to harden the young Prince in his rebellion.

"I shall stay," he persisted. "Two or three days cannot possibly make
any difference. I will take Wanda back to Rakowicz before I leave, and
make myself sure that she will remain there; above all, I will wait for
Waldemar's return, and have the matter cleared up in the shortest way.
I will challenge him with his feelings towards my affianced wife. I
will ..."

"Prince Leo Baratowski will do what duty bids him, and nothing else,"
interrupted the Princess, her cold clear voice ringing out in sharpest
contrast to her son's wild agitated tones. "He will follow his uncle,
as has been agreed, and will never stir one minute from his side."

"I cannot," cried Leo, impetuously. "I cannot leave with this suspicion
at my heart. You have promised me Wanda's hand, and yet I have never
been able to assert my right to it. She herself has always sided coldly
and inexorably with you. She has always wished to be the prize which I
must fight for and win in the struggle we are now entering on. But now
I demand that she shall be publicly and solemnly betrothed to me
beforehand, here in Waldemar's presence, before his eyes. Then I will
go; but until this is done, I will not stir from the Castle. Waldemar
has proclaimed himself master and lawgiver here in such a surprising
manner--no one ever expected it of him--he may just as suddenly
transform himself into an ardent adorer."

"No, Leo," said Wanda, with angry disdain; "but at the beginning of a
struggle your brother would not refuse to follow where duty leads, even
though it should cost him his love and his happiness."

They were the most unfortunate words she could have spoken; they robbed
the young Prince of all self-control. He laughed out bitterly.

"Oh, _his_ risk would be small; but it might easily cost _me_ both if I
were to go away and leave you to your unbounded admiration of him and
his sense of duty. Uncle, I ask permission to put off my journey, only
for three days, and if you refuse me, I shall take it. I know that
nothing decisive will be done at the first, and I shall be there in
time enough for all the preparatory movements."

The Princess would have interposed, but the Count held her back. He
stepped up to his nephew with an air of authority.

"That is for me to decide, and not for you. Our departure has been
fixed for today. I consider it necessary, and with that all is said. If
I have to submit each of my orders to your approval, or to make them
subservient to your jealous caprices, it will be better that you should
not go with me at all. I exact from you the obedience you have sworn to
your leader. You will either follow me this very hour or, take my word
for it, I will exclude you from every post where I have power to
command. You have the choice."

"He will follow you, Bronislaus," said the Princess, with sombre
earnest. "He will follow you, or he will cease to be my son. Decide,
Leo. Your uncle will keep his word."

Leo stood battling with himself. His uncle's words, his mother's
imperious looks, would probably have remained powerless in presence of
his jealousy, now so violently aroused; but he saw that Wanda shrank
from him. He knew that by staying he should incur her contempt, and
that thought turned the scale. He rushed to her, and took her hand.

"I will go," he gasped; "but promise me that you will avoid Wilicza
during my absence, and only see my mother at Rakowicz--above all, that
you will keep at a distance from Waldemar."

"I should have done that without any promise," replied Wanda, more
gently. "You forget that it was my refusal to remain at Wilicza which
led to this outburst of most groundless jealousy on your part."

Leo drew a breath of relief at the thought. Yes, it was true. She had
refused, peremptorily refused to remain under the same roof with his
brother.

"You should have spoken more convincingly," he said, in a calmer tone.
"Perhaps I may one day apologise for having wounded you--I cannot now,
Wanda"--he pressed her hand convulsively in his. "I do not believe you
could ever be guilty of such treason to me, to us all, as to love this
Waldemar, our foe, our oppressor; but you ought not to feel any of this
esteem, this admiration for him. It is bad enough that he should love
you, and that I should know you to be within his reach."

"You will have some trouble with that hot-headed boy," said the
Princess to her brother in a low voice. "He cannot comprehend the word
'discipline.'"

"He will learn it," replied the Count with quiet firmness; "and now
good-bye, Hedwiga. We must be gone."

The leave-taking was short and less hearty than it would have been
under other circumstances. The dissonance of feeling called forth by
the foregoing scene prevailed to the last. Wanda suffered Leo to take
her in his arms in silence; but she did not return his embrace, though
she threw herself once again with passionate tenderness on her father's
breast. The same jarring note disturbed the adieux of mother and son.
The Princess whispered a remonstrance, a warning so grave and earnest
that Leo withdrew himself from her arms more hastily than was his wont.
Then the Count once more held out his hand to his sister, and went,
accompanied by his nephew. They put on their cloaks outside in the
ante-room; and going down, entered the carriage which was waiting for
them below. One more wave of the hand to the windows above, then the
horses moved on, and soon the roll of the carriage wheels was lost in
the distance.

The two ladies were left alone. Wanda had thrown herself on the sofa,
and hidden her face in her hands. The Princess still stood at the
window, and looked long after the carriage which was bearing her
darling away to the strife and to danger. When at length she turned
round and came back into the room, traces might be seen even in her
proud face of what the parting had cost her--only by an effort could
she maintain her accustomed outward calm.

"It was unpardonable of you, Wanda, to arouse Leo's jealousy at such a
moment in order to carry your point," said she, with bitter reproach.
"You ought to be sufficiently aware of this weakness of his."

The young Countess raised her head. Her cheeks were wet with recent
tears.

"You yourself compelled me to do it, aunt. I had no other resource;
besides, I could not divine that Leo would turn upon me in his jealous
anger, that he would insult me by such a suspicion."

The Princess stood before her, looking down scrutinisingly into her
face.

"Was the suspicion really an insulting one? Well, I hope so."

"What do you mean?" cried Wanda, startled.

"My dear," replied the Princess, in an icy tone, "you know that I have
never taken Leo's part when he has tormented you with his jealousy;
to-day I do feel he has cause for anxiety, though to him I would not
admit it, not wishing to excite him further. The tone in which you
delivered that 'rather would I die!' made my blood boil within me, and
your dread of Waldemar's contempt was very significant, so significant
that I now willingly give up all idea of keeping you at Wilicza. When I
conceived the plan, I thought I could be absolutely sure of you; now I
really could not be responsible for the issue to Leo, and I perfectly
agree with you that--it would not do to put it to the test."

Wanda had risen. Pale as death, mute with dismay, she stared at the
speaker, feeling as though an abyss were yawning open at her feet.
Giddy with the sudden shock, she leaned for support against the sofa.

The Princess kept her eyes steadily fixed on her niece's face. "I know
you do not suspect it yourself, and that is why I give you this hint.
Sleep-walkers should be roused before they reach a perilous height. If
the awakening comes too suddenly, a fall is inevitable. You have
ever set energy, an iron will, above all else in your estimate of a
man--that alone has constrained you to admiration. I know that, in
spite of his many brilliant advantages, this one quality Leo unhappily
does not possess, and I will no longer deny that Waldemar has it; so
beware of yourself with your--hatred of him, which might one day reveal
itself in a new light. I open your eyes now while it is yet time, and I
think you will be grateful to me for it."

"Yes," replied Wanda, in a voice which was scarcely audible. "I thank
you."

"Well, we will let the matter rest then; there can be no danger in it
yet, I hope. To-morrow I will myself take you back to Rakowicz; now I
must see that all necessary caution is observed again this evening, so
that no disaster may befall us on the last day. I will give Pawlick my
orders, and superintend all the arrangements myself."

So saying, the Princess left the room, firmly persuaded that she had
only done her duty, and had prevented a future catastrophe, in that,
energetic and unsparing as ever, she had torn away the veil which hid
from the young Countess the state of her own heart. Had she seen how,
on being left alone, Wanda sank down stunned and crushed, she would
perhaps have perceived that the perilous height had already been
reached at which a cry of warning may be fatal. It could avail neither
to admonish nor to rescue. The awakening came too late.




                             CHAPTER VIII.


Winter had come in all its bitter severity. Woods and fields lay
shrouded in a thick white pall of snow, the flow of the river was
stopped by a strong coating of ice, and over the frozen earth the
wintry storms howled and blustered, benumbing all with their icy
breath.

Another storm had been roused by them which raged more wildly than the
elements. Over the frontier the long-dreaded revolt had broken out. The
whole neighbouring country blazed with revolutionary fire, and each day
brought its own fearful tidings. On this side the land was quiet as
yet, and it seemed as though the quiet would be maintained; but
peaceful the temper of that border-district could hardly be, for a
thousand ties and connections bound it to the struggling province, and
hardly a Polish family lived in those parts which had not at least one
of its members in the ranks of the combatants.

Wilicza suffered most severely of all from this state of things. Its
position made it one of the most important, but also one of the most
dangerous outposts of the whole province. Not on light grounds had it
been chosen to play so conspicuous a part in the plans of the Morynski
and Baratowski faction. The Nordeck domain offered the most convenient
connecting point with the insurrection, the surest retreat in case of
contests near the frontier, while it was too densely wooded to allow of
the strict supervision which had been prescribed being kept up
throughout its whole extent, in spite of the numerous posts and
patrols. Much had been changed, certainly, since the young proprietor
had, on that memorable occasion shortly before the departure of Leo and
Morynski, ranged himself so decidedly on the side of his countrymen;
but from that hour a silent, bitter struggle had set in between him and
his mother, a struggle which had not even yet come to an end.

The Princess was true to her word. She yielded to him not an inch of
the ground to which she conceived she had a right, and Waldemar at last
began to realise all the consequences of his own negligence in leaving
his estates for years in her hands. If such negligence and indifference
were ever to be atoned for, he atoned for them now.

He had achieved this--that his castle should no longer be made the
centre of party intrigues; but he could not clear his whole domain in
like manner, for its allegiance had been systematically alienated from
him. The unbounded authority so long exercised by the Princess, the
complete expulsion of the German element from the administration, the
appointment of Polish functionaries to every post of any importance,
all this now bore its fruits. Nordeck was indeed, as he had said, sold
and betrayed on his own soil. The title of master was accorded him, but
his mother was looked on as mistress in point of fact. Though she was
careful not to appear openly in this light, her orders were transmitted
to her underlings and instantly obeyed, while all Wilicza banded itself
together in secret but determined opposition to those given by
Waldemar. All possible intrigues and expedients were busily employed to
thwart him; all that could be done to evade his orders, to counteract
his measures, was done, but invariably in a way which eluded detection
and punishment. No one refused him obedience in so many words; and yet
he knew that "war and resistance" was the order daily issued against
him. When in one place he compelled submission, rebellion raised its
hydra-head in twenty others; and if one day he carried his point, on
the next fresh obstacles stood in his path. He could not meet the
difficulty by discharging all the disaffected; he must have parted with
the whole staff of his officials. In some cases he was bound by
agreements, in others he would have found it impossible to replace the
men, and at the present time any arbitrary act might have been fraught
with disaster. So the young master of Wilicza was forced into a
position which was of all the hardest for him to bear, in that it gave
no scope to his energy, but demanded only quiet, deliberate
perseverance in a course once marked out; and this was the very basis
on which the Princess had built her plan. Waldemar should weary of the
strife. He should learn to know that his power could avail nothing in a
matter wherein all Wilicza was leagued together for her, and against
him. In his anger and vexation of spirit he should let fall the reins
which he had so forcibly withdrawn from her hands. Patience had never
been his forte. But once again she deceived herself in her estimate of
her son. He now gave proof of that tenacity of purpose, that inflexible
will which she was wont to consider as exclusively _her_
characteristic. Not once did he recoil before the obstacles and
annoyances she heaped up in his path; one by one he overcame them. His
eye and hand were everywhere; and if, on a rare occasion, obedience was
actually refused him, he then proclaimed himself the master in such a
way that the first attempt would also be the last. This conduct
certainly did not win for him the affection of his subordinates. If
formerly they had only hated the German in him, they now hated Waldemar
Nordeck personally; but already they had learned to fear, and gradually
they grew to obey. Under existing circumstances fear was the one
stimulus which might yet extort compliance.

The relations between mother and son became in this way more and more
hostile, the situation more untenable, though the same outward forms of
cool politeness were preserved. That first explanation between them had
been the only one. They were neither of them given to many useless
words, and both felt that there could be no question of reconciliation
or agreement where character and principles were so thoroughly opposed
as was here the case. Waldemar never attempted to call his mother to
account; he knew she would admit nothing of the man[oe]uvres which yet
incontestably proceeded from her, and she on her side proffered no
question relating to these matters. Life under the same roof was
therefore possible, and, viewed from without, even tolerable. Its
stings and mortifications were known but to the two concerned. Waldemar
wrapped himself in a still more impenetrable reserve. He saw his mother
only at table, and often not even there. The Princess, too, would
frequently absent herself, going over to Rakowicz to see her niece, and
staying away a considerable time. Wanda had kept her word. She had not
again set foot in Wilicza, whilst Waldemar in his expeditions avoided
even the part of the country in which her father's property lay.

More than three months had elapsed since Count Morynski and his nephew
had left. It was generally known that they were in the thick of the
strife, that the Count was playing an important part in the
insurrection, and that young Prince Baratowski had been appointed to a
command under his uncle. In spite of distance and difficulties, they
were both in uninterrupted communication with their friends. The
Princess, and Wanda also, received exact and detailed accounts of all
that happened beyond the frontier, and constantly despatched messages
to the scene of action themselves. The readiness with which every one
in those border-districts undertook the office of messenger, laughed
all obstacles to scorn.

It was about noon on a rather cold day when Assessor Hubert and Dr.
Fabian walked back together from the village where they had met. The
Assessor was fairly swaddled in wraps. He knew by his Janowo experience
the unpleasant consequences of catching cold. The Doctor, too, had put
up the collar of his cloak as a protection against the wintry weather.
The severe climate did not appear to suit him. He looked paler than
usual, and seemed worn and fatigued. Hubert, on the other hand, was
beaming with cheerfulness and satisfaction. The events now happening on
the frontier took him very often to Wilicza, or its neighbourhood. On
this occasion he was about to conduct an inquiry which would detain him
several days in these parts; as usual he had taken up his quarters at
the steward's house, and his radiant air of contentment showed that he
found them to his liking.

"It is splendid, sir," he was saying in his solemn official tones; "I
tell you, Herr Nordeck's present conduct is splendid. We Government men
best know how to appreciate it. The President is of opinion that this
cursed Wilicza would long ago have set the example of revolt here, if
its master had not stood like a wall and a rampart, holding it back. He
has the admiration of all L----, the more so that no one ever expected
he would one day show himself in these colours."

Dr. Fabian sighed. "I wished he deserved your admiration somewhat less.
It is precisely the energy he shows which draws down more hatred on him
day by day. I tremble each time Waldemar rides out alone, and there is
no persuading him to take even the simplest precautions."

"True," said the Assessor, gravely. "The people here at Wilicza are
capable of anything, even of lying in ambush to get a shot at their
enemy unawares. I believe the only thing which has protected Herr
Nordeck hitherto has been the fact that, in spite of everything, he is
the Princess Baratowska's son; but who knows how long, with their
national fanaticism, they will respect even such a consideration as
that! What a life it must be for you all up at the Castle! No one can
make out why the Princess remains. It is well known that she is heart
and soul with the Polish cause. There must have been some terrible
scenes between her and her son, eh?"

"Excuse me, Herr Assessor, these are family affairs," replied Fabian,
evading the question.

"I understand your discretion," said Hubert, who was burning with
curiosity to learn something that he could relate on his return to
L----, where people busied themselves now more than ever with the owner
of Wilicza and his mother; "but you have no idea what terrible stories
are going the round of the town. They say that, at that time when Herr
Nordeck declared himself so decidedly for us, he had come upon and
dispersed a meeting of conspirators, who held their conferences in the
underground vaults of his Castle under the presidency of Count Morynski
and the young Prince Baratowski. When the Princess would have
interfered, her son, they say, placed a pistol at her breast; she flung
her curse at him, and then they both ..."

"How can people in L---- believe such nonsense!" cried the Doctor,
indignantly. "I give you my word that no such outrageous scene has ever
taken place between Waldemar and his mother--it would be contrary to
their natures; no, far from that, they are on very--very polite terms."

"Really?" asked the Assessor, incredulously. He was evidently reluctant
to give up the tale of the pistol and the curse--it suited his romantic
fancy far better than this tame explanation. "But the conspiracy did
exist," he added, "and Herr Nordeck did put the traitors to flight--he
alone against two hundred! Ah, if I had only been there! I was over at
Janowo, where I unfortunately failed to make any discovery. Fräulein
Margaret is generally so clever, I cannot think how she could have been
so mistaken--for we know now that the secret stores of arms were hidden
at Wilicza, though Herr Nordeck can never be brought to admit it."

The Doctor was silent, and looked greatly embarrassed. The mention of
Janowo always flurried him. Fortunately, they had now reached the spot
where the road to the Castle branched off. Fabian took leave of his
companion, and the latter pursued his way alone to the manor-farm.

Meanwhile an interview was there being held between the steward and his
daughter, which at one time threatened to take a stormy turn. Gretchen,
at any rate, had assumed a most warlike attitude. She stood before her
father with her arms folded, her head with its fair crown of plaits
defiantly thrown back, and as she spoke, she even stamped her little
foot on the ground, in order to give more emphasis to her words.

"I tell you, papa, I don't like the Assessor, and if he chooses to come
languishing about me six months longer, and you speak up for him ever
so much, I'll not be forced into saying Yes."

"But, child, nobody wants to force you," said her father, soothingly.
"You know that you are quite free to do as you like; but the matter
must be spoken of and settled at last, one way or the other. If you
persist in saying no, you must not encourage Hubert any further."

"I do not encourage him!" cried Gretchen, almost crying with vexation.
"On the contrary, I treat him abominably; but it is all of no use. Ever
since that unlucky time when I nursed him for his cold, he has been
firmly persuaded that I return his affection. If I were to refuse him
to-day, he would smile and reply, 'You are mistaken, Fräulein; you do
love me,' and he would be at me again tomorrow."

Frank took his daughter's hand, and drew her nearer to him. "Gretchen,
be a good girl, and tell me what it is you object to in the Assessor.
He is young, tolerably good-looking, not without means, and he can
offer you a social position which has considerable advantages. I admit
that he has some absurd little eccentricities; but a sensible wife
would soon make something of him. The main point is that he is head
over ears in love with you, and you did not look on him with such
unfavourable eyes at first. What has set you so against him just of
late?"

Gretchen made no answer to this question, it seemed to embarrass her a
little; but she soon recovered herself.

"I don't love him," she declared with great decision. "I don't want
him, and I won't have him."

In face of this categorical refusal, her father had no resource but to
shrug his shoulders and turn away--which he did.

"Well, as you like," he said, a little annoyed. "Then I will tell the
Assessor the plain truth before he leaves us. I will wait until he is
going away; perhaps you will think better of it by that time."

The young lady looked most disdainful at such inconsistency being
ascribed to her. The thought that she had just destroyed all the
Assessor's chances of earthly happiness did not appear to disturb her
equanimity in the least; she sat down calmly to her work-table, took up
a book, and began to read.

The steward paced up and down the room, still with a shade of annoyance
on his face; at last he stopped before his daughter.

"What is that great thick volume which I see now constantly in your
hands? A grammar, I suppose. Are you studying French so zealously?"

"No, papa," replied Gretchen. "Grammars are a great deal too tiresome
for me to take one in hand so often. I am studying"--she laid her hand
solemnly on the book--"I am at present studying the 'History of
Teutonism.'"

"The history of what?" asked the steward, who could not believe his
ears.

"'The History of Teutonism,'" repeated his daughter, with infinite
self-complacency. "A book of rare merit, of the most profound
erudition. Would you like to read it? Here is the first volume."

"Don't bother me with your Teutonism," cried Frank. "I have enough to
do with Slavs and Slavism; but how did you get hold of this learned
stuff? Through Dr. Fabian, no doubt. This is all quite against the
agreement. He promised to give you some practice in French; instead of
that he brings you old rubbish out of his library, of which you don't
understand a single word."

"I understand it all," said the girl, much offended, "and it is no old
rubbish, but quite a new book which Dr. Fabian has written himself. It
has made a wonderful sensation in the literary world, and two of our
greatest scientific men, Professor Weber and Professor Schwarz, are at
daggers drawn about it and about the new celebrity just rising into
fame, that is, the Doctor; but you'll see, papa, he will be greater
than both of them put together."

"Schwarz?" said the steward, reflectively. "That is our Assessor's
famous uncle at the University of J----. Well, Dr. Fabian may think
himself lucky if such an authority condescends to take notice of his
book."

"Professor Schwarz knows nothing about it," declared Gretchen, to her
father's amazement, delivering her verdict with the assurance of an
academical judge. "He will get himself into a scrape with his criticism
of Dr. Fabian's book, just as the Assessor did with his attempt to
arrest Herr Nordeck. Naturally enough--they are uncle and nephew--it is
the way of the family!"

The steward began to take a more serious view of the matter in
question. He looked at his daughter attentively.

"You are as well versed as any student in these university stories. You
appear to enjoy Dr. Fabian's unlimited confidence."

"So I do," assented Gretchen; "but you have no idea what a deal of
trouble it cost me to bring him to it. He is so shy and reserved,
although he is such a remarkably clever man. I have had to worm it all
out of him, word by word. He would not hear of giving me his book at
first; but I grew angry, and I should like to see him refuse me
anything when I look cross at him!"

"I tell you what, child, the Assessor did a very stupid thing when he
brought about these French lessons," broke out Frank. "This quiet, pale
Doctor, with his soft voice and timid ways, has fairly bewitched you,
and he is the sole cause of the ill-treatment you bestow on poor
Hubert. You are not going to be foolish, I hope. The Doctor is nothing
but an ex-tutor who lives on with his former pupil, and receives a
pension from him. If he writes learned works the while, it may be an
amusement for him; but such an occupation brings in no money to speak
of, certainly not an assured income. Fortunately, he is too shy, and
too sensible, I trust, to build any hopes on your fancy for him; but I
consider it better that the French studies should be put a stop to at
once. I will try and manage it without giving offence. If you, who have
hardly patience to read through a novel, are now studying the 'History
of Teutonism,' and growing enthusiastic over it merely because Dr.
Fabian is the author, the matter looks to me serious."

His daughter tossed her head impatiently at this paternal reprimand,
and was about to put forward an emphatic protest, when the inspector
came in with a message. Frank left the room with him, and Fräulein
Margaret remained behind in a very ill-humour. Assessor Hubert could
have chosen no worse time to make his appearance; but, as usual, his
unlucky star brought him in now at the wrong moment. He was, as ever,
attention and affability itself; but the object of his wishes proved to
be in so ungracious a frame of mind that he could not refrain from
noticing it.

"You seem out of humour, Fräulein Margaret," he began after several
vain attempts to engage her in conversation. "May one know the reason?"

"It makes me wild to think that it is just the cleverest men who are
shy and have no self-confidence," exclaimed Gretchen, whose thoughts
were far away.

The Assessor's face brightened at these words. "Cleverest men--shy--no
self-confidence." True, he had paused that day when about to fall on
his knees before her, and up to the present time had not succeeded in
making the declaration which was expected from him. No doubt, the young
lady herself was chiefly to blame for the delay; yet she was evidently
vexed that he should show so little self-confidence. This must be
repaired without loss of time. No hint could have been plainer.

Gretchen had hardly spoken when she saw what she had done with her
imprudent words, which Hubert naturally applied to himself. She put her
'History of Teutonism' speedily away in safety from him, for the Doctor
had made her promise not to betray him to the nephew of his literary
foe, and resolved on repairing her hasty error by behaving as rudely as
possible.

"You need not keep looking at me with the eye of a detective, Herr
Assessor," said she. "I am not a conspirator, and conspiracies are the
only things in the world which interest you."

"Fräulein," replied the Assessor, with dignity, and also with a touch
of wounded feeling, for he was conscious that his glance had not been
keen as that of a detective, but languishing rather as a lover's, "you
reproach me with my zeal in the discharge of my duties, while I myself
am inclined to make a merit of that very quality. On us officials rests
the whole responsibility for the order and security of the State. To us
thousands owe it that they can lay down their heads in peace; without
us ..."

"Oh, if our safety depended upon you, we should all have been murdered
long ago here at Wilicza," interrupted the girl. "It is lucky we have
Herr Nordeck to look after us. He is better able to keep order than the
whole police department of L----."

"Herr Nordeck appears to enjoy an extraordinary amount of admiration
everywhere now," remarked Hubert, in a tone of pique. "You share in it
too?"

"Oh, certainly, I share in it," assented Gretchen. "I am extremely
sorry to tell you that my admiration is given to Herr Nordeck, and to
no other."

She cast a look of most pointed meaning at the Assessor, but he only
smiled.

"Ah, that other would never lay claim to so cold and distant a
sentiment as admiration," he protested. "He hopes to awaken far
different emotions in a kindred soul."

Gretchen saw that rudeness availed her nothing. Hubert was steering
steadily, perseveringly, straight ahead towards a declaration. The
girl, however, had no wish to listen to him; it was disagreeable to her
to have to say No, so she struck in with the first question which came
into her mind.

"You have not told me anything of your famous uncle in J---- for a long
time. What is he about now?"

The Assessor, who saw in this question a proof of her interest in his
family affairs, entered promptly into the subject.

"My poor uncle has had much vexation and worry of late," he replied.
"There exists at the University a party of opposition--what truly great
man has not his enemies?--at the head of which stands Professor Weber.
This gentleman lays himself out to gain popularity, and the students
entertain a blind predilection for him. Every one vaunts his amiable
character, and my uncle, who disdains such artifices and cares nothing
for public opinion, meets with enmity and ill-will on every side. Just
now the opposition party, for no other purpose than to spite him, are
crying up some obscure person who has just published his first work;
they have even the audacity to declare that this novice's book is
superior to Schwarz's writings on Teutonism."

"Impossible!" said Gretchen. "Superior to my uncle's writings,"
repeated the Assessor, with generous indignation. "I do not know the
author's name, nor the circumstances of the case--my uncle is not fond
of going into details in his letters--but the matter has vexed him to
such a degree, and his dispute with Professor Weber has assumed such
proportions, that he has thought fit to tender his resignation. It is,
of course, nothing but a menace; they would never let him go--the
University would suffer far too great a loss by his withdrawal--but he
considers it necessary to put some pressure on the personages in
question."

"I wish it Would take effect," said Gretchen, with such a wrathful
expression that Hubert drew back a step in his surprise, only to
advance two the next minute, however.

"It makes me very happy to see you take such an interest in my uncle's
welfare. He, too, is already most kindly disposed towards you. I have
often mentioned in my letters the family at whose house I find so
hospitable a welcome, and he would be delighted to hear that I was to
be connected ..."

He had got so far on the road again, when the girl jumped up in
desperation, ran to the open piano, and began to play; but she
undervalued her suitor's persistency. Next moment he was at her side,
listening to her.

"Ah, the 'Longings of the Heart' waltzes, my favourite piece. Yes,
music is the language which best renders the feelings of the soul; is
it not so, Fräulein Margaret?"

Fräulein Margaret thought that to-day everything had conspired together
against her. This was, as it happened, the only piece she knew by
heart, and she dared not get up and run to fetch her notes, for the
Assessor's looks plainly said that he was only waiting for a pause in
her performance to give vent to the feelings of his soul in words. So
the 'Longings of the Heart' waltzes raged over the piano to the time of
a galop. The noise was fearful, and a string broke; but no matter, such
a din must drown any love declaration.

"Ought this to be fortissimo, do you think?" Hubert ventured to remark.
"I always fancied the piece should be played in a soft, melting piano."

"I play it fortissimo," declared Gretchen, and banged on the notes so
violently that the second string broke.

The Assessor was growing rather nervous. "You will spoil this beautiful
instrument," said he, making himself heard with difficulty.

"What are pianos in the world for?" cried Gretchen; and, seeing that
the musical uproar was disagreeable to the Assessor, she raised it to
an almost incredible pitch, and deliberately sacrificed a third string.
At last her strategy succeeded. Hubert saw that he would not be allowed
to speak to-day, and beat a retreat, a little annoyed, but with
unshaken confidence. The young lady had nursed him with such touching
care when he was ill with his cold, and to-day she had spoken of
him as a remarkably clever man, and had reproached him with lacking
self-confidence. True, her waywardness defied all calculation; but she
loved him nevertheless.

When he had gone, Gretchen stood up and shut the piano. "Three strings
broken!" said she, dolefully, but yet with a certain satisfaction;
"never mind, I have managed once more to keep him from making his
offer. Now papa may settle the rest." With that she sat down at her
work-table once more, brought out her book, and plunged anew into the
'History of Teutonism!'




                              CHAPTER IX.


Some hours after the incidents recorded in the last chapter Waldemar
Nordeck was returning from L----, to which place he had ridden over in
the morning. He had now often occasion to go there, a much closer
intercourse being kept up in these days between the town and the
Castle. The fact that the border-forests were included in the Wilicza
territory, and that the population of those districts was strongly
distrusted, necessitated frequent conferences and consultations as to
the measures to be adopted, and the President knew too well what an
energetic supporter he had in the young proprietor not to receive him
at all times with the greatest favour. Waldemar had called on him
to-day, and had met at his house some of the higher officials and
officers of the L---- garrison. These gentlemen had one and all found
themselves confirmed in their opinion that young Nordeck was the
coldest, the most imperious of men. Any one else would have been
galled, oppressed by the hostile attitude in which he stood to his own
mother and brother; but he did not appear in the least affected by it.
He was as ever, grave, reserved; but determined and ready to abide to
the uttermost by the position he had once chosen.

Waldemar had, indeed, every reason to show this calm front to
strangers. He knew that his situation with regard to his mother, and
the terms they were on together, formed the staple of daily talk in
L----, and that the most marvellous reports were current on the
subject. He was resolved at all events not to furnish fresh food for
gossip. But now that he was alone and unobserved, a troubled look had
settled on his face, and his brow was as darkly clouded as it had been
serene before. Absorbed in his thoughts, he was advancing at a
foot-pace, when, at a meeting of cross-roads, he half mechanically drew
rein to let pass a sledge which was approaching at full gallop, and
which next instant shot rapidly by quite close to him. Norman suddenly
reared high in the air. His rider had jerked the bridle so violently
that the animal, taking fright, sprang with a hasty bound to one side,
alighting with its hind feet in a ditch covered with loose snow which
ran parallel to the high-road. It stumbled and nearly fell with its
master.

Waldemar soon brought the horse out of the ditch, and on to the main
road again; but this slight mischance seemed to have robbed him, the
bold, intrepid rider, of his composure. His usual self-possession quite
failed him as he neared the sledge, which had drawn up on a call from
the lady occupying it.

"I ask pardon if I have startled you, Countess Morynska. My horse shied
at the sudden approach of yours."

Wanda was generally not very susceptible to fear, and possibly it was
less alarm than surprise at the unexpected meeting--the first for three
months--which drove the colour from her cheeks. Her face was very white
as she asked in reply--

"You are not hurt, I hope?"

"No, I am not hurt; but my Norman ..."

He did not finish his sentence, but sprang quickly to the ground. The
horse had evidently injured one of his hind feet. He held it up as
though in pain, and refused to advance. Waldemar hastily examined the
part affected, and then turned to the young Countess again.

"It is nothing serious," he said, in the same cold, constrained tone he
had used hitherto. "I beg of you not to interrupt your journey on my
account." He bowed and stepped aside to let the sledge pass.

"Will you not mount again?" asked Wanda, seeing that he threw the
bridle over his arm, as though preparing to walk.

"No. Norman has sprained his foot, and limps very much. It will be
painful enough for him to get on at all, he could not possibly carry a
rider."

"But Wilicza is two good leagues from here," objected Wanda. "You
cannot go all that way on foot, and at a slow pace."

"There will be nothing else for me," replied Waldemar, quietly. "I must
at any rate get my horse on to the nearest village, where I can have it
sent for."

"But it will be dark before you reach the Castle."

"That does not matter; I know the way."

The young Countess glanced at the Wilicza road which, at a little
distance from the spot where they had met, disappeared into the forest.
She knew that it ran through the heart of the woods, emerging only in
the immediate vicinity of the Castle.

"Would it not be better to make use of my sledge?" said she in a low
voice, without looking up. "My coachman can take charge of your horse,
and lead him to the nearest village."

Waldemar looked at her in amazement. The proposal seemed to surprise
him strangely.

"Thank you; but you are, no doubt, on your way to Rakowicz."

"Rakowicz does not lie far out of your road," Wanda interrupted him,
hastily, "and from thence you can have the conveyance to yourself." The
words were spoken hurriedly, almost anxiously. Waldemar slowly let the
bridle drop. Some seconds passed before he answered.

"I should do better to go straight on to Wilicza."

"I beg of you, though, not to go on; but to come with me."

This time the anxiety in Wanda's voice was so unmistakable that the
refusal was not renewed. Waldemar gave over his horse to the coachman,
who had dismounted at a sign from his mistress, and instructed him to
lead it with all possible care to a certain village, and there to leave
word that it should be sent for. He then mounted the sledge, swinging
himself up into the driver's seat behind, and grasping the reins. The
place by the young Countess's side remained empty.

They drove on in silence. The offer had been so simple, so natural, a
decided rejection of it would have appeared singular, nay, uncourteous,
between such near relatives; but easy intercourse had long since grown
impossible to these two, and the unexpected meeting made their
embarrassment more marked and painful. Waldemar devoted his attention
exclusively to the reins, and Wanda wrapped herself more closely in her
furs, never once turning her head.

They were already in the beginning of March; but it seemed this year as
if winter never would give way. Before taking its departure, the cruel
season once more let loose all its terrors on the poor earth, lying
happily expectant of spring's first breath. A heavy snowstorm, lasting
through an entire day, had clothed it anew in the white shroud of which
it had so slowly and painfully divested itself. Again the country lay
rigid under its pall of snow and ice, and stormy wind and freezing cold
strove together for the mastery.

The storm with its thick drifting snow had subsided on that morning;
but it was as gloomy and cold a winter afternoon as though the month
had been December. The horses stepped out merrily, and the sledge
seemed to fly over the smooth earth; but its two occupants sat silent
and motionless, paralysed, as it were, by the icy breath of that chill
March day. It was the first time they had been alone together since
that hour by the forest lake. Dreary and melancholy as had been that
autumn evening, with its falling leaves and surging mist-visions, some
last lingering throbs of life had then quickened Nature's pulse; but
now even these were stilled. The silence of death lay on the broad
fields, stretching away on all sides, so white and endless. Nothing but
snow all around, far as the eye could reach! The distant horizon lay
wrapped in fog, and the sky was heavy with dense snow-laden clouds
which drifted slowly, lazily along--else all was numb and dead in these
wintry desert solitudes.

The road now left the open lands and turned into the woods which it had
hitherto skirted. Here in the sheltered forest path, the snow lay so
thick that the horses could only advance at a foot-pace. The driver
loosed the reins which up to this time he had held so tightly, and
their giddy, rapid flight was changed into a gentle, gliding onward
movement. The dark fir-trees on either side bowed under their load of
snow. One of the low-hanging branches brushed against Waldemar's head,
and a perfect cloud of white flakes was showered down on him and his
companion. She half-turned now for the first time and said, pointing to
the trees--

"The road to Wilicza lies all the way through a forest as thick as
this."

Waldemar smiled slightly.

"That is nothing new to me. I pass along it often enough."

"But not on foot and at dusk! Do you not know, or will you not own to
yourself, that there is danger for you in these journeys?"

The smile vanished from Nordeck's face, giving way to its accustomed
gravity. "If I had had any doubt of that, I should have been
enlightened by the bullet which, not long ago, as I was coming home
from the border-station, sped so close by my head that it ruffled my
hair. The marksman did not show himself. He was probably ashamed of
his--unskilfulness."

"Well, after such an experience, it is really challenging danger to
ride out so constantly quite alone," cried Wanda, who could not
altogether conceal her alarm at this news.

"I never go unarmed," replied Waldemar, "and no companion could protect
me against a shot fired in ambush. In the present state of affairs at
Wilicza, my personal ascendancy is the one influence which still
avails. If I show fear and take all sorts of precautionary measures,
there will be an end to my authority. If I continue to face all their
attacks alone, they will desist from them."

"But suppose that bullet had not missed," said Wanda, with a little
quiver in her voice. "You see how near the danger was."

The young man bent half over her seat.

"Was it a desire to avert from me some such peril as this which made
you insist on my coming with you?"

"Yes," was the hardly audible reply.

An earnest rejoinder was on his lips; but some sudden remembrance
flashing through his mind, he suddenly drew himself erect and, grasping
the reins more firmly, said with a rush of the old bitterness--

"You will find it hard to justify such a desire in the eyes of your
party, Countess Morynska."

She turned completely round to him now, and her eye met his.

"It may be so, for you have openly avowed yourself our enemy. It lay
with you to make peace; instead of that you have declared war upon us."

"I did what necessity compelled me to do. You forget that my father was
a German."

"And your mother is a Pole."

"Ah, you need not remind me of it in that reproachful tone," said
Waldemar. "The unhappy division of interests has cost me too much for
me ever to lose sight of it for an instant. It was the cause of my
parents' separation. It poisoned my childhood, embittered my youth, and
robbed me of my mother. She would perhaps have loved me as she loves
her Leo if I had been a Baratowski. That I was my father's son has been
my gravest offence in her eyes. If now we stand politically opposed to
each other, that is only a consequence of past events."

"Which you logically, inexorably, carry out to its extreme limits,"
cried Wanda, flashing into anger. "Any other man would have sought for
some means of reconciliation, some compromise, which must have been
possible between mother and son."

"Perhaps between any other mother and son, but not between the Princess
Baratowska and me. She gave me the choice of surrendering Wilicza and
myself, bound hand and foot, into her hands to serve her interests, or
to declare myself at war with her. I chose the latter alternative, and
she takes good care that there shall be no truce, not even for a day.
Were it not that the contest for dominion is still going on, she would
long since have left me. She certainly does not stay on my account."

Wanda made no reply. She knew he was right, and the conviction was now
forcing itself on her mind that this man, held on all sides to be cold
and unfeeling, was in reality most keenly and bitterly sensitive to all
that was painful in his position towards his mother. In the rare
moments when he disclosed his secret feelings, this subject always came
uppermost. The thought of his mother's indifference to himself and of
her boundless love for her younger son had stung the boy's soul years
ago; it rankled yet in the heart of the man.

They soon emerged from the forest, and the horses quickly resuming
their former swift pace, Rakowicz shortly afterwards appeared in the
distance. Waldemar would have turned into the main road which led
thither, but Wanda pointed in another direction.

"Please let me get out at the entrance to the village. I shall like the
little walk home, and you can go straight on to Wilicza."

Nordeck looked at her a moment in silence. "That means, you do not
venture to appear at Rakowicz in my company. I was forgetting that the
people about would never forgive you for it. To be sure--we are
enemies."

"We are so through your fault alone," declared Wanda. "No one compelled
you to act as our foe. Our struggle is not with your country or
countrymen, it will be fought out yonder on foreign soil."

"And supposing your party to be victorious on that soil," asked
Waldemar, slowly and pointedly, "whose turn will it be next?"

The young Countess was silent.

"Well, we will not discuss that," said Nordeck, resignedly. "It may
have been some secret necessity of Nature which drove your father and
Leo into the fight; but the same necessity urges me to resistance. My
brother's task is indeed easier than mine. One way has been marked out
for him, both by birth and family tradition, and he has gone that way
without the pain of making a choice, or of causing dissension. Neither
of these troubles has been spared me. It is not in my nature to
vacillate between two contending parties without giving in my adhesion
to one or to the other. I must declare myself friend or foe to a cause.
What the choice has cost me, none need know. No matter, I have chosen;
and where I have once taken my stand, I will remain. Leo throws himself
into the struggle full of glowing enthusiasm; his highest ideal is
before him; he is supported by the love and admiration of his friends.
I stand alone at my post, where possibly death by assassination, where
surely hatred awaits me, a hatred in which all Wilicza, my mother and
brother--and you, too, unite, Wanda. The lots have been unevenly
divided; but I have never been spoiled by over much love and affection.
I shall be able to bear it. So go on hating me, Wanda. It is perhaps
best for us both."

While speaking, he had driven forward in the prescribed direction, and
now drew up just at the entrance to the village, which lay before them
still and, as it were, lifeless. Swinging himself from his seat, he
would have helped the young Countess to alight; but she waved his hand
away, and got out of the sledge without assistance. No single word of
leave-taking passed her tightly closed lips. She merely bowed her head
in mute farewell.

Waldemar had drawn back. Once again the deep lines of pain showed
plainly on his face, and the hand which grasped the reins was clenched
convulsively. Her repulse evidently wounded him to the quick.

"I will send the sledge back to-morrow," said he in a cold and distant
tone--"with my thanks, if you will not decline them, as you decline
my slightest service."

Wanda appeared to be struggling with herself. She half turned as though
to go; but lingered yet an instant.

"Herr Nordeck."

"What is your pleasure, Countess Morynska?"

"I ... You must promise me not again wilfully to challenge danger as
you would have done to-day. You are right, the hatred of all Wilicza is
directed against you at the present time. Do not give your enemies so
good a chance--do not, I entreat of you."

A deep flush overspread Waldemar's face at these words. He cast one
look at her, one single look; but at that glance all the bitterness
went out from him.

"I will be more prudent," he answered, in a low voice.

"Good-bye, then."

She turned from him and took the path leading to the village. Nordeck
gazed after her until she disappeared behind one of the nearest
farm-buildings, then he swung himself into the sledge again, and drove
off swiftly in the direction of Wilicza, the road soon taking him back
into the forest. He had drawn his pistol from his breast-pocket and
laid it within easy reach; and, whilst he handled the reins with
unaccustomed caution, his eye kept a vigilant watch between the trees.
This defiant, inflexible man, who knew no fear, had suddenly grown
careful and prudent; he had promised to be so, and he had now learned
that there was one being who trembled for _his_ life also, who longed
to avert danger from him.




                               CHAPTER X.


Rakowicz, the residence of Count Morynski, could in no respect compare
with Wilicza. Quite apart from the fact that the latter property
covered ten times as much ground, and contained three or four separate
leased-off estates, each of an extent equal to the Morynski domain, the
magnificent forests, the Castle and noble park were all wanting here.
Rakowicz lay in an open country about three miles from L----, and
differed little or nothing from the other gentlemen's seats scattered
about the province.

Since her father's departure Wanda had lived on at home alone. Though,
under other circumstances, her removal to Wilicza would have appeared a
matter of course, it now seemed very natural that Count Morynski's
daughter should avoid the Castle, its master having assumed an attitude
of avowed hostility to her friends and their cause. Even the Princess's
continued stay at her son's house excited some wonder. As has been
said, the latter lady often came over to Rakowicz to see her niece; she
was there now on a visit of several days. No mention had as yet been
made of Wanda's accidental meeting with Waldemar, her aunt having only
arrived on the evening following her return from that expedition. Two
days later, the ladies were sitting together in the young Countess's
morning-room. They had just received news from the seat of war, and
still held the letters open in their hands; but there appeared to be
little in them of a joyful nature, for Wanda looked very grave, and the
Princess's face was overcast and full of care as she at last laid down
the missives from her brother and Leo.

"Repulsed again!" said she, with repressed emotion. "They had reached
the heart of the land, and now they are on the borders once more. Never
anything decisive, no success worth mentioning. It almost makes one
despair!"

Wanda, too, laid down the letter she had been reading. "My father
writes in a very gloomy strain," she answered; "he is almost worn out
with the perpetual efforts to hold in check all the conflicting
elements in his army. Everybody will command, no one will obey--there
is growing disunion among the leaders. How will it all end!"

"Your father allows himself to be influenced by the melancholy which
forms part of his character," said the Princess, more calmly. "After
all, it is natural to suppose that a host of volunteers, hurrying under
arms at the first call, cannot possess the order and discipline of a
well-trained army. Time and practice are necessary for that."

Wanda shook her head sadly. "The struggle has lasted three months, and
for every successful encounter we may count three defeats. Now I
understand my father's great emotion at parting from us; it was not
only the separation which moved him--he went without any real hope of
victory."

"Bronislaus has always looked on the dark side," persisted the
Princess. "I hoped more from Leo's constant companionship, and from his
influence over his uncle. He, as yet, has all the elasticity and
enthusiasm of youth; he looks on every doubt as to the ultimate triumph
of our cause as treason. I wish he could communicate some of his
unbounded confidence to the other--they both have need of it."

She drew her son's letter out, and looked through it again. "Leo is
happy, no doubt, in spite of everything. My brother has at last yielded
to his entreaties, and entrusted him with an independent command. He is
stationed with his troop only a couple of leagues from the frontier,
and his mother and affianced wife cannot see him even for an instant!"

"For Heaven's sake, do not put such thoughts into Leo's mind,"
exclaimed Wanda. "He would be capable of committing the rashest, the
maddest acts in order to bring about a meeting."

"There is no fear of that," replied the Princess, gravely. "He has
strict orders not to stir from his post; he will, therefore, remain at
it. But what does he say to you? His letter to me is very short and
written in haste. Yours appears to contain much more."

"It contains very little," declared the young Countess, with visible
impatience. "He hardly touches on that which to us, who are forced to
await the result here in inaction, is the one subject of importance.
Leo prefers to write pages about his love for me, and finds leisure in
the very midst of the war to torment me with his jealousy."

"A singular reproach from the mouth of his betrothed," remarked the
Princess, with a sneer. "Most women would be happy and proud to know
that their lover's thoughts were given to them at such a time."

"We are engaged in a life and death struggle, and I require deeds from
a man, not vows of love," said Wanda, energetically.

The Princess's brow grew dark. "He will not be wanting in deeds when
the occasion for them presents itself; but perhaps you think coldness
and taciturnity are their inseparable adjuncts."

Wanda rose and walked to the window. She knew at what those words were
aimed; but she could not, would not continually be made to render
account of herself to those penetrating eyes which rested on her face
with so inexorable a scrutiny, as though they would detect the
innermost movements of her being. The Princess observed towards her
niece the same line of conduct she had adopted towards Waldemar. She
had spoken openly once, and that was enough. Repeated warnings were, in
her opinion, useless as they were dangerous. Since the evening on which
she had judged it necessary to open the young Countess's eyes, no word
had passed between them on the subject then alluded to; but Wanda well
knew that every word, every look of hers was weighed in the balance,
and this consciousness often made her feel insecure and ill at ease in
her intercourse with her aunt.

That lady had meanwhile folded and laid together the letters from her
brother and her son.

"To all appearances, we may expect some fighting close to the frontier
in the course of a few days," she began again. "What Wilicza might have
been to us at such a time, and what it is!"

The young Countess turned round, and fixed her dark eyes on the
speaker.

"Wilicza?" she repeated. "Aunt, I understand the necessity which keeps
you there; but I should not be equal to the task! Any other sacrifice I
could make; but it would be impossible to me to live day by day with
any one on the terms existing between you and your son."

"No one else would find it so bearable as it is to us," said the
Princess, with bitter irony. "I bear you testimony, Wanda, that you
were right in your estimate of Waldemar. I expected the contest would
have proved an easier one. Instead of tiring, him out, it is I who am
almost ready to yield. He is more than a match for me."

"He is your son," said Wanda; "you always lose sight of that fact."

The Princess sat leaning her head on her hand.

"He takes care that I shall not forget it; he shows me every day of my
life what the last four years have done for him. I never should have
believed that he could have worked his way up with such wonderful
energy from the rough semi-savage condition of his younger days. He has
learned to control himself, and therefore he can control others in
spite of enmity and opposition. Already I find it more difficult to get
my orders obeyed when he sets his will against them, and yet the people
are as devoted to me as ever. He awes them with his indomitable spirit,
with his tone of command. They fear his eye more than they have ever
feared me. I wish Nordeck had left me the boy. I would have brought him
up for our cause. He would have been worth much to us, I think--not
merely as master of Wilicza. As it is, he belongs altogether to his
father's people, and he will maintain his place in the enemy's ranks,
though the highest offers should be made to him by our side. I know him
well enough to be sure of that. It has been a misfortune that I could
never be a real mother to him. We have both to pay the penalty for it
now."

There was something almost of self-accusation, of sorrowful regret, in
her words. The tone was quite a new one in the Princess's mouth when
referring to her elder son. Those tenderer impulses, which at rare
intervals would gain the mastery over her, had hitherto invariably been
stirred within her by love for her youngest-born alone, and even now
she put the passing weakness from her with a strong hand. Rising
abruptly, as though to end the discussion, she said in a stern voice--

"No matter, we are enemies, and enemies we shall remain. That must be
borne, like so much else."

They were here interrupted. A servant came in with the announcement
that the house-steward of Wilicza had just arrived, and begged to be
allowed to speak to his mistress. The Princess looked up.

"Pawlick? Then something must have happened. Send him in at once."

Hardly a minute had elapsed when Pawlick entered. He had been Prince
Baratowski's servant, had accompanied the family into exile, and now
filled the office of major-domo at the Castle. The old man seemed
excited and in haste; yet he omitted none of those marks of respect
with which he was wont to approach his liege lady.

"That will do, that will do," said the Princess, impatiently. "What
brings you here? What has happened at Wilicza?"

"Nothing at Wilicza itself," reported Pawlick; "but at the
border-station on the frontier ..."

"Well?"

"There have been some squabbles with the military again, as has often
been the case of late. The ranger and his men have placed every
possible difficulty in the way of the patrols, have even insulted them
at last--it nearly came to an open fight."

An exclamation of extreme displeasure escaped the Princess's lips.
"Must our plans always, invariably, be thwarted by the folly of our
subordinates! Just now, when everything depends upon diverting
attention from the station, they absolutely challenge observation. Did
I not expressly command Osiecki to keep quiet, and to hold his men in
check! A messenger must be sent over at once to repeat the order in the
most strenuous terms."

Wanda had drawn nearer to listen. The border-station, as it was
commonly called, because it was the last forester's post on the Nordeck
property and lay within half a league of the frontier, seemed to have a
great interest for her also.

"Unfortunately, Herr Nordeck has been beforehand with us," went on
Pawlick, hesitatingly. "He has twice warned the forester, and
threatened to punish him. On this last occasion he has sent him
instructions to clear out of the station, and to come over to that of
Wilicza. For the present, one of the steward's German inspectors is to
be sent to the frontier, until a substitute is found."

"And what has Osiecki done?" interrupted the Princess, hastily.

"He has positively refused to obey, and sent word to the master that he
has been placed at the border-station, and there he shall remain--if
any one wants to drive him from it he may come and try."

The importance of the event described must have been greater than would
appear. On the Princess's face were signs of unmistakable alarm.

"And what has my son determined to do?"

"Herr Nordeck declared that he would ride over himself this afternoon."

"Alone?" exclaimed Wanda.

Pawlick shrugged his shoulders. "The master always rides alone."

The Princess seemed hardly to have heard the last words. She roused
herself from her meditations.

"See that the horses are put to at once, Pawlick. You will accompany me
back to Wilicza. I must be on the spot if any events are preparing
there. Go."

Pawlick obeyed. He had hardly closed the door behind him when Countess
Morynska stood at her aunt's side.

"Did you hear, aunt? He is going over to the border-station."

"Well?" replied the Princess, "what of it?"

"What of it? Do you think Osiecki will comply?"

"No, he must not comply, come what may. His station is of the greatest
importance to us, doubly important in view of what the next few days
may bring forth. We must have people there we can trust. The madmen, to
risk losing us the post just at this time!"

"They have lost it us," cried Wanda, hastily. "Waldemar will compel
them to obey."

"In this particular case he will not use compulsion," replied the
Princess. "He avoids all acts of violence. I know that the President
himself has specially begged him to do so, and he has given his
promise. In L---- they fear nothing so much as a revolt on this side
the frontier. Osiecki and his men will yield to nothing short of force;
and to that, Waldemar will not resort. You hear he is going over
alone."

"But you will not allow that," interposed the young Countess, eagerly.
"You are going to Wilicza to warn him, to hold him back?"

The Princess looked at her niece with eyes of astonishment. "What are
you thinking of? A warning from my mouth would betray all to Waldemar,
and at once convince him that my orders are obeyed at the station, and
not his. He would then inexorably insist upon Osiecki's leaving, which
may perhaps yet be averted, which indeed must be averted, cost what it
may."

"And you think your son will submit to be thus openly defied? It is the
first time that such flagrant rebellion has appeared at Wilicza. Aunt,
you know this wild fellow, this Osiecki, is capable of anything, and
that his men are no better than he!"

"Waldemar knows it too," returned the Princess, with perfect calm, "and
therefore he will be careful not to irritate him. He has learned such
admirable coolness and prudence, there is no fear now of his being
carried away when he really desires to control himself; and in his
dealings with his subordinates he is invariably calm and collected."

"They hate him," said Wanda, with trembling lips. "They have already
fired at, and missed, him on the road to the border-station. The second
time they will take better aim."

The Princess started. "How do you know that?"

"One of my people brought the news from Wilicza," replied Wanda,
quickly bethinking herself.

"A mere tale," said the Princess, contemptuously. "Probably invented by
his anxious friend, Dr. Fabian. The poor man has, no doubt, heard an
innocent shot fired in the woods at some bird, and has taken it for a
murderous attempt on the life of his beloved pupil. He is constantly
trembling for his safety. Waldemar is my son--that will ensure him
against any attack."

"When their passions are once fully roused, that will no longer protect
him," cried Wanda, imprudently allowing her apprehensions to get the
better of her caution again. "You had given the forester orders to keep
quiet, and you see how he has respected them."

The Princess turned a menacing look on her niece. "Would it not be
better to reserve this exaggerated solicitude for our own friends? I
think it might be far more suitably expended. You seem quite to forget
that Leo is daily exposed to such dangers!"

"If we knew that it lay in our power to rescue him, should we lose an
instant in hastening to his side?" broke forth the young Countess,
passionately; "and wherever Leo may be, he is always at the head of his
troops. Waldemar stands alone against that wild unruly band of men whom
you yourself have stimulated into hatred of him, and who will not
hesitate to turn their arms against their own master if he provokes
them."

"Quite true--if he provokes them; but he will have sense enough
not to do that, for he knows the danger, which in times like ours is
not to be trifled with. Should he, notwithstanding this, risk the
venture--should he have recourse to some act of violence--the
consequences must be on his own bead."

Wanda shivered at the look which accompanied these words. "And you, a
mother, can speak such words!"

"They are the words of a deeply offended mother, whom her son has
driven to desperation. There can be no peace between Waldemar and
myself while we both of us tread the same soil. Where I place my foot,
I find him barring the way; when I attempt to exert my power, he is
there on the defensive. What plans of ours has he not thwarted already!
What have we not been obliged to sacrifice, to give up on his account!
He has gone so far that we now stand opposed as mortal enemies. He is
alone, is he?--let him bear alone, then, all that this enmity may bring
down on his head."

Her voice was very cold and hard. That touch of maternal feeling, of a
gentler emotion, which for a moment had softened it, had long since
vanished. It was the Princess Baratowska who now spoke, one who never
forgave an injury, and in whose eyes no injury could be so great as
that of robbing her of her supremacy. Waldemar had been guilty of this,
and he, least of all, would be forgiven the crime.

She was about to leave the room to prepare for her journey when her
look fell on Wanda.

The girl had uttered no syllable in reply. She stood motionless; but
her eye met the Princess's with such a look of stern resolution that
the latter stopped.

"I must recall one thing to your mind before I go," said she, laying
her hand firmly on her niece's arm. "If I do not warn Waldemar, no one
else must do so--it would be treason to our cause. Ah, why do you start
at the word! How would you describe it, if by letter or word of mouth,
through a third or fourth hand, information were conveyed to the master
of Wilicza which exposed our secrets to him? He would go under escort,
very probably; but go he certainly would, in order to find out the
meaning of the warning--why he was not to set foot in his own station,
not to speak to his own forester whom he is about to call to account
for a conflict with the patrols. It would cost us the border-station.
Wanda, the Morynskis have hitherto never had cause to repent making the
women of their house the confidants of their plans. There has never yet
been a traitress among them."

"Aunt!" cried Wanda, in such a tone of horror that the Princess slowly
withdrew her hand from her niece's arm.

"I only wished to make clear to you what is at stake. I suppose you
will like to be able to look your father in the face on his return. How
you will meet Leo's eye while your mind is racked by an anxiety you in
vain strive to conceal, I know not. You must settle that matter with
himself; but"--here the proud woman's terrible agitation broke through
the constrained coldness of her tone--"but, could I ever have dreamed
that such a blow would one day menace my son--that it would come upon
him through Waldemar--instead of favouring Leo's unhappy love for you,
I would have opposed it with my whole strength. Now it is too late for
him--and for you too--the present hour has taught me that."

The young Countess was spared an answer, for Pawlick now came in to say
that the horses had been put to. The Princess did not require much time
for her preparations. In ten minutes she was equipped for her journey,
and at once went down and entered the sledge which was waiting for her
below. She took leave of her niece briefly and hurriedly, in the
presence of the servants, and no further allusion was made to their
previous conversation; but Wanda understood the parting glance which
met hers. She laid her damp icy-cold hand in her aunt's, and the
Princess appeared satisfied with the dumb promise.

Countess Morynska went back to the morning-room, and shut herself in
that she might breathe freely once more; but relief is hard to find
when one has such a mountain load on one's heart. She was alone at
last! alone with her own thoughts, but also with her anxiety and that
strong presentiment of evil in which the mother would place no faith.
To call it forth, the instinct of love was needed, and no such instinct
had ever stirred in the Princess's heart towards her eldest son; it
came into play only when Leo and Leo's interests were concerned. Had
she known that Waldemar's life would indeed be imperilled by the
expedition, she would have said no word to hold him back, for might not
such a word have wrought injury to her party and her party's cause?

Wanda stood at the writing-table, on which lay the letters from her
father and Leo. One short warning, two or three lines hurriedly traced
on the paper and sent over to Wilicza, might prevent it all! Waldemar
would listen to the warning, whether he guessed from whom it was sent
or not; he had promised to be more prudent, and he was well enough
acquainted with the temper of the people. If, after all, he still went,
he would at least go accompanied, so that they would not dare to attack
him. He would not find it difficult to compel obedience, if once he
determined to call in force to his aid. That which had passed at the
border-station went very nigh open revolt. It would cost the master but
a word to have the forester arrested and the station garrisoned by the
troops--then he would be at peace.

And then! The Princess had taken a clear view of the case, and had
spoken plainly of what would follow. She had taken good care that her
niece should not get beyond that thought: 'and then!' Wanda had been so
far initiated into the plans of her party as to be aware that the
border-station now played the part which had been formerly destined to
the Castle--all the machinations, which Waldemar's severe edict had
banished from his home, were now carried on out yonder. There some
portion of the supply of arms still lay hidden; the point of juncture
was there, the centre whence messages were despatched, where news was
received; much therefore depended upon the present forester's retaining
his post. He knew this as well as his mistress, and the knowledge made
him determine to stay on and brave the worst.

Nordeck himself but seldom visited the solitary distant station. He had
too much to occupy him at Wilicza to bestow any special attention to
that outlying post. Evidently he was only going over now in order, by
his personal intervention, to quell a resistance such as he often
encountered, and to which he attached no peculiar importance; but
should he discover that at the forester's house his orders were openly
scoffed at, that here a systematic opposition was organised against
him, he would act, regardless of friend or foe, would go straight
forward to his aim, and would forcibly deprive his mother of this last
outpost, this last footing on his territory. Yet the discovery would be
inevitable so soon as the fact was betrayed to him that some danger
threatened him at that particular place.

All this stood out with inexorable distinctness before Wanda's mental
vision; but just as clearly did Waldemar's danger face her whichever
way she turned. She felt the most positive conviction that the bullet
which but a short time before had jeopardised his life, had sped from
the forester's rifle; that the man, whose hate and fanaticism urged him
on to an attempt at assassination, would not hesitate to commit an
assault on his master, if the latter stood before him alone, at his
mercy! And she was to let him go unwarned, to let him go, perhaps, to
his death!----Treason! Before that terrible word all her strength of
will gave way. She had always been her father's confidant. He counted
on his daughter's loyalty with absolute faith, and would have put from
him with indignation the thought that she would ever betray a word of
his secrets--betray it to save the life of an enemy. She herself had
menaced Leo with her contempt when, in a paroxysm of jealousy, he had
hesitated to fulfil his duty. Now this same duty, which had merely torn
him from his beloved's side, and carried him into the thick of the
fight, inflicted on her a far harder ordeal, the hardest of all, that
of waiting the gradual approach of a danger, which by one stroke of her
pen she could avert, of standing by silent and inactive, not lifting
her hand to make that stroke!

All these thoughts rushed in rapid succession through the young
Countess's mind, almost prostrating her energies. In vain she sought an
outlet, a way of escape. The terrible alternative stared her in the
face, look which way she would. If, up to this time, she had really
been unaware of the state of her feelings, the present hour would have
revealed it to her. For months past she had known Leo to be in danger,
had feared for him as for a near and dear relative, had suffered
anxiety, no doubt, but had borne that anxiety with a lofty composure, a
heroism equal to that displayed by his mother; but now it was Waldemar
who was in peril, and all Wanda's composure, all her heroism, was
scattered to the winds, vanquished by the mortal dread which thrilled
through her at the thought of his possible fate.

But there is a crisis in such moments of misery when the fiercest, the
most cruel anguish gives way to a sort of stunned insensibility, the
very faculty of suffering being exhausted, for the time being at least.
More than an hour had passed since Wanda had shut herself in, and her
drawn and agonised features bore witness to all that she had endured in
the interval; now there came to her one of those moments when she could
no longer struggle or despair, when she could not even think. Faint and
weary she threw herself on to a chair, leaned back her head, and closed
her eyes.

Then once more arose before her the old dream-picture which once long
ago had shaped itself mid the glow of sunshine and the murmur of the
waves, weaving its charm round two youthful hearts all unconscious as
yet of what it portended to them. Since that autumn evening by the
forest lake it had risen so often, so persistently--by no effort of
will could it be dispelled, or scared away. The day before yesterday it
had been with them again on their lonely journey through that wintry
land. It flew with them over the broad snow-fields; it glimmered out
from the distant mist of the horizon, hovered in the dense masses of
cloud which hung so low over the earth; no desolate gloom, no icy chill
could lay that fair phantom--now again it appeared suddenly before her,
as though evoked by some magician's wand, all radiant in its golden
glory. Yet Wanda had fought against it with all the passionate
earnestness, the energy of her character. She had placed distance
between herself and this man whom she was determined to hate, because
he was not the friend of her people, had sought her salvation in the
strife now so fiercely blazing between the two nations; but of what
avail this desperate battling with a superior force? Victory had
not been achieved despite of all her struggling. This was no mere
dream--she could no longer deceive herself. She knew now the nature of
the charm which had worked on her one summer evening long ago on the
Beech Holm, knew that in that hour by the forest lake the half broken
threads had again been taken up, and this time indissolubly united. At
length she recognised the treasures which the old enchanted city had
opened to her gaze for a few fleeting minutes, only to sink with them
once more into the depths. In one respect only the legend had spoken
truly--the memory of that vision was not to be effaced, the longing for
it not to be stilled. Through hatred and strife, through the distant
clang of war and the low murmur of rebellion came a sweet, mysterious
music as of Vineta's bells chiming from below the waters.

Wanda rose slowly. The fearful conflict in her mind, the struggle
between love and duty was over. Those last minutes had decided her. She
did not hurry to her writing-table, or lay a finger on her pen. There
was to be no message, no warning. She drew back the bolt from the door,
and next instant a sharp, clear ring summoned the servant to her.
Countess Morynska leaned on the table by which she stood. Her hand
trembled; but her face wore the calm of an unalterable resolution.

"And if it really comes to the worst, I will interfere," she said, with
lips which quivered a little. "His mother in her cold indifference will
let him go to meet the danger. It shall be my task to save him."




A Novel.



                        FROM THE GERMAN OF E. WERNER,
                            By CHRISTINA TYRRELL.



                          _IN THREE VOLUMES_.
                               VOL. III.




                                LONDON:
                        RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON,
                         NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
                                 1877.

                        (_All rights reserved_.)






                            PART THE SECOND.
                             (_Continued_.)





                             UNDER A CHARM.




                              CHAPTER XI.


The border-station lay, as has already been mentioned, only half a
league distant from the frontier, in the midst of some of the thickest
plantations on the Wilicza land. The building, which was large and even
handsome, had been erected by the late Herr Nordeck at no
inconsiderable cost; but there was a desolate, decayed look about the
place, nothing whatever having been done towards its preservation or
repair, either by master or tenant, for the last twenty years. The
present forester owed his position solely to the Princess Baratowska's
favour, that lady having taken advantage of the vacancy caused by his
predecessor's death to advance one of her own supporters to the post.
Osiecki had now filled it for three years. His frequent encroachments
and somewhat negligent performance of his duties were altogether
overlooked by his mistress, because she knew that the forester was
devoted to her personally, and that she could count on him in any
circumstances. Hitherto, Osiecki had but rarely been brought in contact
with his master, and, on the whole, had followed with fair exactness
the instructions received from him. Waldemar himself came but very
rarely to the lonely, outlying station. It was only during the last few
weeks that the perpetual conflicts between the foresters and the
military stationed on the frontier had obliged him to interfere.

It was still to all appearances midwinter. The house and forest stood
laden with snow in the dim light which fell from a heavy overcast sky.
The ranger had assembled all his troop--five or six foresters under his
orders, and some woodmen. They were all standing with their guns thrown
over their shoulders, evidently waiting for the master's coming; but it
certainly did not look as though they were ready to obey and peaceably
to quit the station, as Waldemar had commanded. The dark defiant faces
of the men augured nothing good, and the ranger's appearance fully
justified the assertion that he was 'capable of anything.' These
people, who lived from year's end to year's end in the solitude of the
woods, were not very punctilious in their notions of duty, cared little
for either law or order; and Osiecki especially was notorious for the
liberty of action he allowed himself, following generally the
promptings of his own arbitrary will.

Nevertheless, they as yet preserved a respectful attitude, for before
them stood the young Countess Morynska. She had thrown back her mantle.
Her beautiful face betrayed nothing of the struggle and torture she had
gone through but an hour or two ago; it was only very grave now, and
coldly severe.

"You have brought us to an evil pass, Osiecki," she said. "You should
have been careful not to attract suspicion or attention to the station,
instead of which you quarrel with the patrols, and imperil everything
by your indiscreet conduct. The Princess is extremely displeased with
you. I come in her name once more emphatically to forbid any acts of
violence whatever, no matter against whom. This time you must make up
your mind to obey. Your ill-judged proceedings have done harm enough."

The reproach made an evident impression on the forester. He looked
down, and there was something almost apologetic in his voice as he
answered with mingled defiance and contrition--

"Well, it is done now. I could not hold back my men this time--nor
myself either, for that matter. If the Princess, or you, my lady, knew
what it is for us to lie here quiet day by day, while the fighting is
going on out yonder, to look on at the doings of those soldier fellows
and not to be allowed to stir a finger, though we have our loaded
rifles in our hands! It would wear out any man's patience, and ours
broke down the day before yesterday. If I did not know that we are
wanted here, we should all have been over yonder with our own people
long ago. Prince Baratowski is only a couple of hours from the
frontier; it would not be hard to find the way to him."

"You will stop here!" replied Wanda, with decision. "You know my
father's orders. The station is to be held, come what may, and for that
reason you are more necessary to us here than out yonder at the seat of
war. Prince Baratowski has men enough at his disposal. But now to the
main point. Herr Nordeck is coming here to-day."

"Yes, yes," said the ranger, with a sneer. "He means to make us obey,
he says. We are to go over to Wilicza, where he will have us constantly
under his eye, where we cannot lift a hand without having him behind
us, looking over our shoulders. Yes, he is a good one to command, is
Nordeck; but the question is whether just at this time he will find any
one to obey him. He had better bring a whole regiment of soldiers with
him, if he wants to drive us out of the station--else it is not certain
but the thing may take a bad turn."

"What do you mean by that?" asked the young Countess, slowly. "Are you
forgetting that Waldemar Nordeck is your mistress's son?"

"Prince Baratowski is her son and our master," the forester broke
forth; "and it is a shame that she and all of us should have to obey
this German, just because his father forced his way in among us twenty
years ago, and got possession of the Morynski estates and of a Countess
Morynska for his wife. It was bad enough that she should have to put up
with that man for years; but now the son gives her still more bitter
bread to eat--we know well enough what terms they are on. If she were
to lose him, she would not grieve much more than she did for his
father, and it would be the best thing that could happen to the whole
family. Then the orders from the Castle need not be given in secret;
the Princess would reign, and our young Prince would be the heir and
the master of Wilicza, as he should be of right."

Wanda turned pale. The unhappy position in which mother and son stood
to each other had already so made its baneful influence felt that their
subordinates could calculate in cold blood what advantages Waldemar's
death would bring to his nearest relatives, that they reckoned on the
Princess's forgiveness, to whatever extremity they might resort. There
was here something more to check and subdue than an outbreak of
momentary fury and irritation. Wanda saw her worst fears confirmed; but
she knew that by no word, no look must she betray her inward anxiety.
She was held in respect only as Count Morynski's daughter, as the
Princess's niece, and no doubt was felt that she spoke in the name of
the latter. If once the motive were guessed which had really brought
her hither, there would be an end to her authority, and she would lose
all chance of protecting Waldemar.

"Do not venture to lay hands on your master," she said, imperiously,
but as calmly as though she were actually fulfilling her mission.
"Happen what may, the Princess desires that her son may be spared, his
safety ensured at any cost. Let the man who dares to attack him look to
himself! You will obey, Osiecki--obey unconditionally. Once already you
have angered her with your disobedience. Do not attempt it a second
time."

The forester struck his gun impatiently on the floor, and there was an
uneasy movement among the bystanders who had hitherto listened to the
conversation in silence; yet no one ventured to offer opposition--no
one even murmured. The command had been sent to them by the Princess,
who was the one authority they recognised. Wanda would have gained her
end, if more time had been granted her in which to work on the men's
minds; but, hasten hither as she might, she had only been able to
obtain an advance of a few minutes on Waldemar. At this moment his
sledge drove up outside. All eyes were turned to the window. The young
Countess started.

"Already? Open the side door quickly for me, Osiecki. Say no syllable
to betray my presence here. I will go as soon as Herr Nordeck has
left."

The forester obeyed with all haste. He knew that Countess Morynska must
on no account be seen here by the master--else all their secrets would
be betrayed. Wanda stepped quickly into a small and dimly lighted
chamber, and the door was at once closed upon her.

It was high time. Two minutes later Waldemar appeared in the room she
had just left. He stopped on the threshold and took a steady look at
the circle of foresters who had grouped themselves around the ranger,
their rifles in their hands. The sight was not an encouraging one for
the young master, who came thus alone among them with the view of
reducing the rebels to submission; but his face was quite unmoved, and
his voice rang out firm and clear as he said, turning to the ranger--

"I did not announce my coming to you, Osiecki; but you seem to be
prepared for it."

"Yes, Herr Nordeck, we were expecting you," was the laconic reply.

"Armed? in such an attitude? What are you doing with your rifles? Lay
them down."

Countess Morynska's warning must have had some effect, for they obeyed.
The ranger was the first to put down his weapon; but he placed it well
within reach of his hand, and the others followed his example. Waldemar
now advanced into the middle of the room.

"I have come to ask for an explanation of a mistake which occurred
yesterday, Osiecki," he said. "My orders could not be misunderstood, I
sent them in writing; but the messenger who brought your reply cannot
have understood his errand. What did you really commission him to say
to me?"

This was going straight to the root of the matter. The short, precise
question was not to be evaded; it demanded an answer equally precise.
Yet the forester hesitated. He had not the courage to repeat to his
master's face that which he had yesterday charged his messenger to
declare.

"I am the border-ranger," said he, at last, "and I mean to remain so
while I am in your service, Herr Nordeck. I am responsible for my
station, therefore I must have the management of it, and no one else."

"But you have shown that you are not capable of managing it," replied
Waldemar, gravely. "You either cannot, or will not, hold your men in
check. I warned you repeatedly on two former occasions when excesses
had been committed. That affair of the day before yesterday was the
third, and it will be the last."

"I can't keep my men quiet when they fall in with the patrols at such a
time as this," declared the ranger, with a flash of defiance. "I have
no authority over them now."

"For that very reason you must be removed to Wilicza--there _I_ shall
be able to furnish the necessary authority, if yours falls short."

"And my station?"

"Will remain for the present under the supervision of Inspector
Fellner, until the arrival of the new ranger whom I had destined for
Wilicza. He must make up his mind to take your post for a while. You
yourself will stay at the Castle-station until there is peace again in
the land out yonder."

Osiecki laughed ironically. "It may be a long time first."

"Perhaps not so long as you think. At any rate, you will have to leave
this house to-morrow."

A somewhat significant movement was noticeable among the men as he
repeated his order in most decided tones, and the forester's passion
blazed up fiercely.

"Herr Nordeck!" he exclaimed.

"Well?"

"I declared yesterday ..."

"I hope you have taken counsel since then, and that to-day you are
ready to declare it was through a misunderstanding your messenger
brought me such an incredible answer. Take care what you are about,
Osiecki. I should think you must know me sufficiently by this time."

"Yes, indeed, you have taken good care that all Wilicza should know
you," muttered the ranger between his set teeth.

"Then you know, too, that I brook no disobedience, and that I never
take back an order once given. The forester's house at Wilicza is empty
at present. You will either move into it before noon tomorrow with all
your staff, or you may consider yourself dismissed from my service."

A threatening murmur rose among the men. They crowded more closely
together, their looks and attitude showing plainly that it was only by
an effort they still restrained themselves from any overt act of
violence. Osiecki stepped up to his employer, and stood close before
him.

"Oh, oh, the thing is not so easily settled," he cried. "I am no common
day labourer to be hired to-day and discharged to-morrow. You can give
me warning if you like; but I have a right to stay here till the
autumn, and so have the men I have engaged. My district lies among the
border-forests. I want no other, and I'll take no other, and the man
who tries to oust me will fare but badly."

"You mistake," replied Waldemar. "The station is my property, and the
ranger is bound to conform to my instructions. Do not insist on a right
which you have forfeited through your own misconduct. The act committed
by your men under your leadership the other day deserves a far severer
punishment than a mere removal to another post. You have insulted the
patrols; you have now gone so far as to attack them--there were even
shots fired. If you were not arrested on the spot, you may thank the
consideration in which I am held in L---- for it. It is well known
there that I have the will and, if need be, the power to keep the peace
on my estates, and that I do not care to have strangers coming between
me and those whom I employ; but some serious interference on my part is
now expected of me, and I shall respond to that expectation without
delay. You will at once comply with the arrangement I have determined
on, or before the day is over I shall offer the station to the officer
in command to serve as a post of observation on the frontier, and
to-morrow the house will be garrisoned."

Osiecki hastily stretched out his hand towards his rifle; but bethought
himself and stopped.

"You will not do that, Herr Nordeck," said he, in a low meaning voice.

"I shall do it, if there is any question of insubordination or
resistance. Decide--you have the choice. Shall you be at Wilicza
to-morrow or not?"

"No, a thousand times no," shouted Osiecki, roused now to violent
excitement. "I have orders not to stir from the station, and I shall
yield to nothing but actual force."

Waldemar started. "Orders? From whom?"

The forester bit his lips; but the unguarded word had escaped him, it
could not be recalled.

"From whom have you received orders which are in direct opposition to
mine?" repeated his employer. "From the Princess Baratowska, perhaps?"

"Well, suppose it were?" asked Osiecki, defiantly. "The Princess has
commanded us for years, why should she leave off all at once?"

"Because the master is on the spot himself now, and it is not good that
two should rule at one and the same time," said Waldemar, coldly. "My
mother lives at the Castle as my guest; but on all matters concerning
Wilicza and its management I alone decide. So you have instructions to
retain possession of the station at any price, even to resort to force
in order to hold it! There appears to be something more here than a
mere reckless act of aggression on the part of your men."

The ranger maintained a moody silence. His own imprudence had betrayed
him into what the Princess, in speaking to her niece, had stigmatised
as 'treason'--had wrought the very evil which Wanda had striven to
avert by hurrying to the spot herself. That one hasty word had
disclosed to Waldemar that the resistance, to which he had hitherto
attached no special importance, was one planned and executed under
orders; and he knew his mother too well not to feel sure that, if she
had given orders for the station to be held at all hazards--even for
the use of force in its defence in case of need--this must be the point
where the many threads conjoined which, spite of recent difficulties,
she had never let slip from her experienced hands.

"No matter," he began again. "We will not discuss the past. To-morrow
the border-station will be in other hands. We can settle all that
remains to be settled between us at Wilicza. Till to-morrow, then."

He moved as though to go; but Osiecki barred his way. The forester had
snatched up his rifle, and now held it in an apparently negligent
fashion which was yet significant enough.

"I think we had better settle our accounts on the spot, Herr Nordeck.
Once for all, I shall not leave my station to move to Wilicza or
anywhere else, and you yourself don't stir from this room until you
have recalled your words--not one step."

He would have signed to his confederates, but no sign was needed. As at
a word of command, each man had grasped his rifle, and in an instant
the young master was surrounded. Dark, threatening faces glowered at
him on all sides, faces which said plainly that the men who owned them
would recoil before no act of violence, and the whole man[oe]uvre was
so neatly, so promptly executed, it must necessarily have been
concerted beforehand. Perhaps at this moment Waldemar may have
regretted coming alone; but he preserved all his coolness and presence
of mind.

"What does this mean?" he asked. "Am I to take this for a menace?"

"Take it for what you will," cried the forester, fiercely; "but you
will not stir from this spot without first revoking your orders. It is
for us now to say 'Take your choice.' Beware what you do. You are not
bullet proof."

"Perhaps you have already put that to the test?" Waldemar turned a
searching look on the speaker. "Who despatched that ball after me the
last time I rode home from this place?"

A glance of deadly hatred darting from Osiecki's eyes was his only
answer.

"I have another ball here in the barrel, and each of my men is provided
in like manner"--he grasped the weapon more firmly. "If you care to
make the experiment, you will find us ready. Now, short and sweet. Give
us your word that we shall remain at the station unmolested, that no
soldier shall set foot in it--your word of honour, which is generally
thought by such as you to be more binding than any written promise,
or ..."

"Or?"

"You do not leave this place alive," concluded the forester, trembling
with fury and excitement.

Promptly, almost tumultuously, the others ratified the threat. They
crowded nearer. Six barrels, ominously raised, lent weight to Osiecki's
words--but in vain. Not a muscle of Waldemar's face moved as he turned
slowly, and looked round the circle. He stood in the midst of the
rebellious band, cool and collected, as though he were holding the most
peaceful conference with his subordinates. He only knitted his brow
more closely, and folded his arms with imperturbable and superior calm.

"You are fools!" he returned, in a half-contemptuous voice. "You
altogether forget what consequences you would draw down on yourselves.
You are lost if you lay hands on me. Discovery would be inevitable."

"Supposing we waited for it," sneered the forester. "What do you think
we are so near the frontier for? In half an hour we should be over it
and out yonder in the thick of the fight, where no one would ask what
game we might have brought down here with our rifles. Any way, we are
sick of lying here on the quiet, without ever striking a blow for the
cause; so, for the last time, will you give us your word of honour?"

"No," said the young man, neither moving nor averting his eyes from the
speaker.

"Reflect, Herr Nordeck." Osiecki's voice was almost choked with rage.
"Reflect, while there is yet time."

With two rapid strides Waldemar gained the wall, where, at least, he
would be covered in the rear.

"No, I say; and since we have gone so far"--he drew a revolver from his
breast-pocket, and pointed it at his assailants--"reflect yourselves
before you show fight. A couple of you will pay for the murderous
attack with their lives. My aim is as sure as yours."

At this the long pent-up storm broke loose. A wild tumult arose;
execrations, curses, threats burst from the infuriated men. More than
one among them laid his finger on the trigger, and Osiecki had raised
his hand to give the signal for a general assault when the side door
was hastily pushed open, and next instant Wanda stood by the side of
him they already looked on as their prey.

Her unexpected appearance warded off the worst--for a short space, at
least. The foresters paused on seeing Countess Morynska by their
master's side, so near to him that any attack on their enemy must
endanger her also. Waldemar, for his part, stood for one moment utterly
perplexed and amazed. Her sudden advent was inexplicable to him; then,
in an instant, the truth flashed through his mind. Wanda's death-like
pallor, the expression of desperate energy with which she took her
place at his side, told him that she had been aware of his danger, and
that she was there for his sake.

The peril was too imminent to leave them time for any explanation, for
the exchange of a single word. Wanda had at once turned to the
aggressors and was addressing them imperiously, passionately. Waldemar,
who knew but little Polish, who was but just beginning to familiarise
himself with the language, understood only that she was issuing orders,
resorting to dire threats against his adversaries--all to no avail. She
had reached the limits of her power. Their answers came back fierce and
menacing, and the ranger stamped with his foot on the ground--he
evidently refused obedience. The short and hasty parley lasted but a
minute or two. Not an inch of ground had been given up, not a man had
lowered his weapon. The rebels, exasperated to blindest fury, were past
paying deference, or recognising authority.

"Back, Wanda," said Waldemar, in a low voice, as he tried to put her
gently from him. "There will be a fight, you cannot prevent it. Give me
room to defend myself."

Wanda did not comply. On the contrary, she stood her ground more
steadfastly than ever. She knew that he must succumb to the force of
numbers, that his one chance of safety lay in her close neighbourhood.
As yet they had not ventured to touch her--as yet no one had dared to
drag her from his side; but the moment was drawing nigh when any such
lingering scruples would give way.

"Move aside, Countess Morynska," the forester's voice, harsh and full
of evil presage, resounded through the tumult. "Aside, or I shall shoot
you too."

He raised his rifle. Wanda saw him lay his finger on the trigger, saw
the man's features distorted with rage and hatred; and, seeing this,
all hesitation, all reflection vanished from her mind. One single clear
thought remained, definite, all-absorbing, that of Waldemar's deadly
peril; and, grasping at the last resource left her, she threw herself
on his breast, shielding him with her own body.

It was too late. The report crashed through the room, and next instant
Waldemar's piece responded. With a low cry the forester fell to the
ground, where he lay motionless. Waldemar had aimed with terrible
precision. He himself stood upright and unhurt, and Wanda with him. The
rapid movement, by which she had sought to shield him, had caused him
to swerve aside from the sure direction of the deadly weapon, and had
saved both him and herself.

It had all happened with such lightning-like speed that none of the
others had had time to take part in the fray. In one and the same
moment they saw Countess Morynska throw herself between the combatants,
saw the forester stretched on the ground, and the master facing them
with uplifted revolver, ready to fire his second shot. There was a
pause of death-like stillness. For one second no one stirred.

The smoke had not cleared from his barrel before Waldemar had forced
Wanda into his own partially sheltered position, and placed himself
before her. With one glance he took in the whole situation. He was
surrounded; the way out was barred. Six loaded rifles were opposed to
his single weapon. If it came to a struggle he felt he was lost and
Wanda with him, should she again attempt to come between him and the
danger. An effectual defence was not to be thought of. Here boldness
alone could save. The boldness might prove mad, rash audacity; but no
matter, it must be tried.

He drew himself up erect, threw back with an energetic gesture the hair
which had fallen over his forehead, and, pushing up the two barrels
nearest him with his hand, stepped out into the midst of his
assailants. His stately figure towered high above them all, and his
eyes blazed down on his rebellious subjects, as though by their fire
alone he could annihilate them.

"Down with your arms!" he thundered, with all the might of his powerful
voice. "I will have no rebellion on my land. There lies the first man
who has attempted it. He who dares to imitate him will share his fate.
Down with your rifles, I say!"

The men stood as though paralysed with astonishment, and stared at
their master speechless. They hated him; they were in open revolt
against him, and he had just shot down their leader. The first, the
most natural impulse would have been to take revenge, now that
vengeance was in their hands. No doubt their intention had been to rush
upon and close with Waldemar; but when he stepped out among them,
thrusting aside their weapons with his hand, as though he did in truth
wear a charmed life--when he demanded submission with the look and tone
of an absolute and despotic ruler, the old habit of subjection made
itself felt, the old spirit of blind obedience which, without question
or demur, bows to the voice of command. With the instinctive docility
of lower natures they yielded to the force of a superior mind. They
recoiled timidly before those flashing eyes which they had long learned
to fear, before that threatening brow with its strange swollen blue
vein. And Waldemar stood before them unscathed! Osiecki's ball, which
had never before been known to miss its aim, had glanced harmlessly by
him, while the forester lay dead on the ground, shot to the heart!

There was something of superstitious awe in the movement with which
those nearest him shrank back from their enemy. Gradually the menacing
barrels were lowered; the circle round the master grew wider and wider;
the venture with which he, one man alone, had braved a sixfold danger,
had succeeded.

Waldemar turned and, grasping Wanda's arm, drew her to him. "Now clear
a path," he ordered, in the same imperious tone; "make way!"

Some of the men kept their places; but the two foremost fell back
hesitatingly and, by so doing, left free the space between them and the
door. None of the others offered opposition--in silence they let their
employer and Countess Morynska pass. Waldemar did not hasten his steps
in the least. He knew that he had only quelled the danger for a moment,
that it would return with redoubled force so soon as the insurgents had
time to reflect, to recover a consciousness of their superior strength;
but he also felt that the least sign of fear would be fatal. The power
of his eye and of his voice still held that riotous, unruly band in
check; all now depended on their getting clear of their foes before the
spell ceased to work, which might happen any moment.

He stepped out with Wanda into the open air. The sledge was waiting
outside, and the driver hurried up to them with a face blanched by
fear. The sound of shots had attracted him to the window, where he had
witnessed part of the scene which had just taken place. Waldemar
quickly lifted his companion into the sledge, and got in himself.

"Drive off," he said, briefly and hastily. "At a foot-pace as far as
the trees yonder, then give the horses the rein, and into the forest
for your life."

The coachman obeyed. He was probably not without apprehensions on his
own account. In a few minutes they had reached the friendly trees, and
now they dashed onward in mad haste. Waldemar still held his revolver
ready cocked in his right hand; but with his left he clasped Wanda's
slender fingers tightly, as though he would never again relax his hold.
Not until they had placed such a distance between the forester's
station and themselves that all fear of murderous bullets despatched in
their rear was over, did he relinquish his attitude of defence and turn
to his companion. Now for the first time he saw that the hand he held
in his was covered with blood. Some heavy drops were trickling down
from the sleeve of her dress, and the man who had faced the late danger
with a brow of adamant, grew white to the very lips.

"It is nothing," said Wanda, hastily forestalling his question.
"Osiecki's ball must have grazed my arm. I did not feel the wound until
now."

Waldemar tore out his handkerchief and helped her to bind up the
injured arm with it. He was about to speak; but the young Countess
raised her white face to him. She neither bade nor forbade him; but in
her countenance there was such an expression of mute anguish and
entreaty that Waldemar was silenced. He felt he must spare her, for the
present, at least. He only spoke her name; but that one word said more
than the most impassioned burst of eloquence. "Wanda!"

His look sought hers; but in vain. She did not raise her eyes again,
and her hand lay inert and icy cold in his.

"Hope nothing!" she said, in so low a tone that her words hardly
reached his ear. "You are the enemy of my people, and I am Leo
Baratowski's affianced wife!"




                              CHAPTER XII.


The event at the border-station, resulting in so serious an incident as
the ranger's death, could not long remain unknown at Wilicza, where, as
may be supposed, it caused great excitement. Nothing could have been
more unwelcome to the Princess than this open and bloody conflict.
Doctor Fabian and the steward were seized with consternation, and the
subordinates, according as they sided with the master or with the
Princess, ranged themselves in two opposite camps, and ardently took
part for and against the parties concerned. One person alone was, in
spite of its tragic termination, made happy by the startling
occurrence. Assessor Hubert, as has already been mentioned, chanced to
be staying at the steward's house at the time. He at once rose to the
height of the situation. The necessary enquiry which followed brought
him to the foreground, took him to the Castle in his official capacity,
compelled Herr Nordeck to enter into personal communication with
him--all things for which Hubert had long sighed, but for which he had
hitherto sighed in vain.

Waldemar had informed him with all brevity that, driven by the
necessity of self-defence, he had shot down the forester Osiecki, the
latter having made a murderous assault upon his person. He had at the
same time begged the official to take suitable measures for a clear
notification of these circumstances to the authorities at L----,
declaring himself ready to undergo any examination, and the
representative of the L---- police grew great in the sphere thus opened
to his activity. He rushed with overwhelming zeal into the inquiry, the
conduct of which devolved on him, and made the most wonderful
preparations for its prosecution. Unfortunately, the result of all his
efforts was small. He was naturally desirous, in the first place, to
interrogate all the foresters employed on the station. As witnesses of
the occurrence their evidence was of the greatest value; but next day
the house was found empty and deserted. The men had preferred to evade
any judicial intricacies by putting into execution a long cherished
design and escaping in the night across the frontier. Their thorough
knowledge of the country made it easy for them to effect their purpose,
in spite of the sharp watch kept up on either side. They had doubtless
joined the insurgent troops, with whose position they were well
acquainted, and were thus beyond the reach of the law which, as
personified in Assessor Hubert, stretched forth its arm so longingly
after them. Hubert was inconsolable.

"They have gone!" said he to the steward, in a lamentable voice. "They
have every one of them taken to their heels. There is not a single man
of them left."

"I could have told you that beforehand," said Frank. "Under the
circumstances, it was the best thing the fellows could do. Out yonder
they are safe from an enquiry which might possibly have shown them up
in their true light as accomplices."

"But I wanted to examine them," cried the Assessor, indignantly; "I
wanted to take them all into custody."

"It was just on that account they preferred to make themselves scarce;
and to be candid, I am glad it has happened so. It was always a danger
to us to have that wild lot out on the frontier; now we are free from
them without more disturbance. They will hardly come back again, so let
them run. Herr Nordeck does not want much fuss made about the
business."

"Herr Nordeck's wishes cannot be consulted in this case," declared
Hubert, in his most solemn official tones. "He must incline before the
majesty of the law, which demands the strictest enquiry, irrespective
of persons. There can, of course, be no doubt as to his conduct on the
occasion. He acted in self-defence, and only returned the ranger's
fire. His declaration to this effect is corroborated by the coachman's
evidence, by the foresters' flight, and by the general aspect of the
case. He will merely be subjected to an examination or two, and then be
absolved from all blame. But there are very different matters in
question here. We have to do with an insurrection, with an undoubted
conspiracy ..."

The steward sprang to his feet. "For Heaven's sake, don't begin with
that again!"

"With a conspiracy," repeated Hubert, paying no heed to the
interruption. "Yes, Herr Frank, it was such--all the circumstances of
the case tend to prove it."

"Nonsense!" cried the steward, shortly. "It was a revolt against their
employer, a personal affair, and nothing else. Deeds of violence were
the order of the day with Osiecki and his men, and the Princess closed
her eyes to all their misdoings, because she and her orders were held
in absolute respect. That rough set owned no authority but hers; and
when Herr Nordeck tried to enlighten them and show them _he_ was
master, they took to their rifles. Any other man in his place would
have been lost, but his energy and presence of mind saved him. He shot
down that rascal Osiecki without more ado, and his promptness had such
an effect on the others that not one of them dared move a finger. The
whole thing is as simple and clear as it can possibly be, and what
there is in it to put you on the conspiracy track again, I can't
conceive."

"And how do you account for Countess Morynska's presence there?"
demanded the Assessor, with as much triumph as though he had convicted
an accused person of some crime. "What was the Countess doing at the
forester's station, which lies six miles from Rakowicz, and belongs to
the Wilicza property? We know the part both she and the Princess have
taken in the present movement. In this confounded country the women are
the most dangerous of all. They know everything, manage everything; the
whole political network of intrigues is woven by their hands, and
Countess Morynska is her father's true daughter, her aunt's most
proficient pupil. Her presence at the station is proof enough of a
conspiracy, proof clear as day! She hates her cousin with all the
fanaticism of her people; it was she, and she alone, who planned this
murderous surprise. That was why she appeared so suddenly among them,
in the midst of the tumult, as though she had risen from the ground;
that was why she tried to tear the revolver from Herr Nordeck's hand
when he levelled it at Osiecki. She urged and stimulated the ranger and
his men on to attack their master. But this Waldemar does not do
things by halves! Not only did he subdue the mutiny, but he took the
arch-instigator into safe custody, and brought her away with him by
force to Wilicza. In spite of her struggles and resistance, he dragged
his treacherous cousin out from the midst of her partisans, lifted her
into the sledge, and drove off as for the very life. Just imagine,
during the whole journey he never once addressed her--not a syllable
did they exchange; but he never loosed his hold on her hand for an
instant. He was determined to frustrate any attempt at flight. I am
fully informed of it all. I have examined the coachman minutely on the
subject ..."

"Yes, you were examining him for three mortal hours, until the poor
fellow lost his head, and said yes to everything," interrupted the
steward. "From his post outside the window he could not make out all
the details of what was passing. He could only see an angry crowd, in
the midst of which stood his master and Countess Morynska. Then came
the two shots, and by his own confession he at once rushed off to his
horse in the greatest alarm. You put all the rest in his mouth. Herr
Nordeck's deposition is the only reliable one."

The Assessor looked greatly offended. He felt very much inclined
to assume all the dignity of his office as representative of the
L---- police, whose proceedings were thus lightly esteemed and
criticised in his; but he bethought himself in time that it was his
father-in-law elect who was taking the liberty of setting him right,
and such things must be tolerated and passed over, in consideration of
their future close relationship. It was a sad pity, though, that the
steward should not feel a more becoming respect for his son-in-law's
infallible instinct in all official matters! Hubert gulped down his
annoyance and only replied, in rather an irritated tone--

"Herr Nordeck is giving himself sovereign airs as usual. He vouchsafed
me the information in as laconic a manner as possible; he would enter
into no particulars, and refused point-blank when I expressed a wish to
put some questions to Countess Morynska, alleging as a pretext that his
cousin was unwell. Then he takes upon himself to give orders and make
arrangements, exactly as if I were not there; and behaves as though no
one but he had a word to say in the business. He would hush it up
altogether if he could. 'Herr Nordeck,' said I to him, 'you are
completely in error in regarding this occurrence merely as an explosion
of private hatred. The question lies far deeper. _I_ can see through
it. It was a planned and premeditated insurrection, a prematurely
developed conspiracy, directed against you, no doubt, in the first
instance, but which had far wider aims in view. It was a conspiracy
against order, against law, against the Government. We must sift this
matter thoroughly; we must take all necessary measures.' What
do you think he replied? 'Herr Assessor, you are completely in
error in attributing the importance of a State conspiracy to an
ill--conditioned fellow's violent assault on me. There is no end to be
gained by your enquiry, now that all the men concerned have taken
flight; and in the utter failure of traitors and conspirators you would
be obliged to fall back on Dr. Fabian and myself, as happened to you on
a previous occasion. It is in your own interest, therefore, that I must
beg of you to moderate your zeal. I have provided you with the
necessary material for your reports to L----. As to any disturbance of
law or order here at Wilicza, you need feel no anxiety on that score. I
imagine that I alone should be equal to any emergency which might
arise.' With that he made me a cold majestic bow, and turned on his
heel."

The steward laughed. "He has got that from his mother. I know the
style. Princess Baratowska has often nearly driven me wild with it. No
just anger, no consciousness of being in the right will avail a man
against that grand, calm way of theirs. It is a peculiar form of
superiority, which is imposing in spite of everything, and in which
Prince Leo, for instance, is altogether deficient. He allows his hasty
temper to get the better of him continually. It is only the elder son
who has inherited this trait; at such times one might fancy his mother
herself was there before one, though he is little enough like her in a
general way. But Herr Nordeck is right in this. Moderate your zeal. It
has brought you into trouble once already."

"Such is my fate," said the Assessor, resignedly. "With the noblest
aims, with unwearying devotion, and the most ardent zeal for the
welfare of the State, I earn nothing but ingratitude, misconstruction,
and neglect. I persist in my opinion. It was a conspiracy. I had
unearthed one at last, and now it slips through my fingers. Osiecki is
dead, his men have fled, no confession can be extracted from Countess
Morynska. If only I had gone over to the station yesterday! This
morning I found it empty. It is my destiny ever to arrive too late!"

The steward cleared his throat in a marked manner. He thought he would
take advantage of Hubert's elegiac humour to bring the conversation
round to the subject of his wooing, and then and there roundly to
declare to him that he must entertain no hopes of winning his
daughter's hand. Gretchen had not thought better of it, but had
persisted in her refusal; and her father was about to crush the poor
lover with this afflicting disclosure, when Waldemar's coachman--the
same who had driven his master and Countess Morynska on the preceding
day, and who since then had been a victim to the Assessor's constant
cross-examinations--entered the room with a message from Herr Nordeck.

It was all over now with Hubert's resignation, all over too with his
attention for other things. He forgot past misconstruction and neglect;
remembering only that he had several most important questions to put to
the coachman, he dragged that unfortunate witness, in spite of all
Frank's protests, up with him to his own room, there to proceed with
the examination with renewed vigour.

The steward shook his head. He himself began now to incline to the
opinion that there was something morbid about the Assessor's mind; it
dawned upon him that his daughter might, after all, not be so far wrong
in refusing this suitor whose furious official zeal was so hard to
moderate, and whose fixed ideas on the subject of general and
all-pervading conspiracies were proof against all argument.

Just at this moment, however, Gretchen happened to be following the
Assessor's example. She too was cross-questioning, and that in a very
thorough and businesslike manner, the person who was closeted with her
in the parlour, and who was no other than our old friend, Dr. Fabian.
He had been obliged to report in detail all that he had heard from Herr
Nordeck of yesterday's event. Unfortunately he had little more news to
tell than what was already current in the steward's house. Waldemar had
told the Doctor what he had told every one else; confining himself to
the bare facts of the case, and maintaining an absolute silence with
regard to much that was interesting--with regard, for instance, to the
part Countess Morynska had played in the drama. This, however, was
precisely the point which Gretchen Frank desired to have cleared up.
Hubert's assertion that the young Countess hated her cousin, that she
had even planned the surprise at the forester's house, did not quite
approve itself to her mind. With true womanly instinct, she divined
some far different and secretly existing relation between the two, and
she grew very cross on finding that no more accurate information was to
be obtained.

"You don't understand how to use your influence, Doctor," said she,
reproachfully. "If I were Herr Nordeck's friend and confidant, I should
have rather a better knowledge of his affairs. He would have to come
and confess the most trifling thing to me. I should have trained him to
it from the first."

The Doctor smiled a little. "You would hardly have succeeded in that.
It is not so easy to train a nature such as Waldemar's in any
particular course, and communicative you certainly never could have
made him. He never feels the need of speaking his thoughts, of
unburthening his mind to another person. Trouble and gladness alike he
keeps to himself. Those about him see nothing of it, and one must know
him long and intimately, as I have known him, to find out that he is
capable of any deep emotion."

"Naturally enough--he has no heart," said Gretchen, who was always very
ready with her judgments. "One can see that at a glance. He chills the
room directly he comes into it, and I begin to shiver whenever he
speaks to me. All Wilicza has learned to fear, but not a single
creature to love him; and in spite of the friendliness and the
consideration he has shown us, he is just as great a stranger even to
my father as on the day of his arrival. I am convinced he has never
loved any human being--certainly no woman. He is perfectly heartless."

"Pardon me, Fräulein,"--Fabian grew quite hot as he answered her--"you
do him great injustice there. He has heart enough, more than you fancy;
more perhaps than that fiery, passionate young Prince Baratowski. But
Waldemar does not know how, perhaps does not wish, to show it. Even as
a boy I noticed this trait in him, this close, persistent reserve; for
years I strove in vain to overcome it, until a chance occurrence, a
danger threatening me, all at once broke the ice between us. From that
hour I learned to know Waldemar as he really is."

"Well, amiable he is not, that is certain," decided Gretchen. "I can't
understand how you can be so tenderly attached to him. You were almost
distracted yesterday when you heard of the peril he had passed through,
and something must have happened up at the Castle again to-day, for you
are quite cross and excited. I saw it directly you came in. Come,
confess to me at once. Is Herr Nordeck menaced by any fresh trouble?"

"No, no," said the Doctor, hastily. "It has nothing to do with
Waldemar--this matter concerns myself alone. It has excited me a
little, certainly; but as to being cross--oh no, I certainly am not
that, Fräulein. I have had news from J---- this morning."

"Has that scientific and historic monster, Professor Schwarz, been
annoying you again?" asked the young lady, with as warlike a demeanour
as though she were ready to throw down the glove and do battle with
that celebrated man on the spot.

Fabian shook his head. "I fear it is I who am to bring annoyance on him
this time, though I may truly say, in a manner altogether independent
of my will. You know that it was my 'History of Teutonism' which was
the original ground of contest between him and Professor Weber. This
contest has grown hotter and hotter, until at last it has passed all
bounds. Schwarz, with his hasty temper, irritated too by the importance
they attached to my book, allowed himself to be so far carried away as
to stoop to personal invective and to unwarrantable rudeness towards
his colleague; and, when the whole University declared itself on
Weber's side, he threatened to send in his resignation. He only meant,
by so doing, to show them how indispensable he was--he never seriously
thought of leaving J----; but his harsh, imperious manners have made
him many enemies among the leading personages there. In short, no
attempt was made to detain him, and what he merely intended as a threat
was accepted as an accomplished fact. He had no choice but to persist
in the resolution he had so publicly avowed. It is decided now that he
is to leave the University."

"A very good tiling for the University," said Gretchen, drily; "but I
do really believe you are capable of worrying yourself with remorse
about the business. It would be just like you."

"That is not all," said Fabian, in a low, hesitating voice. "There
is some talk of--of my taking his place. Professor Weber writes
me word that they intend offering me the chair which has become
vacant--offering it to me, a simple private scholar, who can boast of
no academic usefulness, whose only merit lies in his book, the first he
has published! It is something so unusual, so astounding, that at first
I positively could not believe it. I really could not get over my
surprise, my utter amazement."

Gretchen showed no amazement; she seemed to think it the most natural
thing that could have happened. "Well, they have shown themselves very
sensible," said she. "You are a man of much higher mark than Professor
Schwarz. Your book is far superior to anything he ever wrote; and when
you are once seated in his professorial chair, he will soon find his
fame obscured."

"But, Fräulein, you don't know the Professor; you have not read his
works," put in the Doctor, timidly.

"Never mind, I know you," declared the girl, rising superior to
argument. "Of course you mean to accept the nomination?"

Fabian looked down, and some seconds passed before he answered--

"I hardly think so. Honourable as the distinction is to me, I do not
venture to avail myself of it, for I fear I should not be equal to so
important and prominent a post. The long years I have spent in
retirement, in solitude over my books, have unfitted me for public
life, and have made me quite incapable of meeting all those social
calls upon me which such a position would entail. Finally--and this is
the principal reason of all--I could not leave Waldemar, especially now
when troubles are coming in upon him on all sides. I am the only person
with whom he can be said to be on intimate terms, whose society he
would miss. It would be the height of ingratitude on my part, if for
the sake of some outward advantages ...."

"It would be the height of selfishness on Herr Nordeck's part, if he
were to accept such a sacrifice," interrupted Gretchen. "Luckily, he is
sure not to do so; he will never consent to your abandoning for his
sake a career which must seem to you to comprise every earthly
happiness."

"To me?" repeated the Doctor, sadly. "No, there you are mistaken. I
have ever sought and found all my pleasure in study, and I looked upon
it as a special favour from Providence when, in the pupil who at one
time stood so coldly aloof from me, a true and faithful friend grew up.
That which is called earthly happiness--a home, a family--I have never
known, and am not likely now to learn. At this moment, when such
undreamt-of success has come to me, it would be sheer presumption to
covet that also. I can well afford to be satisfied with that which has
fallen to my lot."

In spite of his resignation, the words sounded sorrowful enough; but
his young listener was apparently not moved to pity. Her lip curled
disdainfully.

"You are of a singular nature, Doctor. I should be in despair if I had
to take so gloomy a view of life, to renounce all its bright side."

The Doctor smiled sadly. "All, with you it is very different. One who
is young and attractive as you are, who has grown up in free and happy
circumstances, has a right to expect--to demand all good things from
life. May they be granted you in fullest measure! It is my earnest, my
heartfelt wish; but, indeed, there can be no doubt of it. Assessor
Hubert loves you."

"What has Assessor Hubert to do with my happiness?" flashed out
Gretchen. "You alluded to this once before. What do you mean by it?"

Fabian was seized with dire confusion.

"I beg you to forgive me, if I have been indiscreet," he stammered. "I
know that the circumstance is not made generally known at present; but
the deep, the sincere interest I take in you must be my excuse, if
I ..."

"If you what?" cried the girl, vehemently. "I do believe you seriously
take me to be engaged to that stupid, tiresome Hubert, who talks of
nothing the whole day long, but of conspiracies, and of his future
grand Counsellorship."

"But, Fräulein," said Fabian, in utmost perplexity, "the Assessor
himself told me last autumn that he had good grounds for his hopes, and
that he could reckon with all confidence on your consent."

Gretchen sprang up with a bound which sent her chair flying backwards.

"There, it is out at last! But it is your fault, Doctor Fabian, your
fault entirely. Don't look at me with that astonished, frightened face.
It was you who misguided me into sending the Assessor to Janowo, where
he caught his cold. For fear of his falling ill in earnest, I took
charge of the patient myself. Ever since that time the fixed idea has
rooted itself in his mind that I am in love with him, and when once he
gets a fixed idea there is no curing him of it. You can see that by the
nonsense he is always talking about plots."

She was almost crying with vexation; but the Doctor's face grew
absolutely radiant at sight of this unfeigned indignation.

"You do not love the Assessor?" he asked. "You do not intend to bestow
your hand on him?"

"I will bestow a lesson on him such as he never had before, and send
him about his business," the young lady replied energetically, and
would have launched out into strong and injurious speech against poor
Hubert, had she not just then met the Doctor's gaze. At this she turned
crimson and was dumb.

A rather long pause ensued. Fabian was evidently striving to fortify
himself in some resolution from which his timidity shrank abashed.
Several times he tried to speak, but in vain. His eyes, however, told
his tale so plainly that Gretchen could be in no doubt as to what was
impending. On this occasion it did not occur to her to beat a retreat,
or to fly to the piano and perform on it until the strings snapped, as
she had been pleased to do when the Assessor had attempted to give vent
to his feelings. She sat down again, and waited for what was coming.

After a while the Doctor drew nearer, but shyly still, and with an
anxious face.

"Fräulein," he began, "I did indeed believe--that is, I supposed--the
Assessor's strong attachment ..."

Here he came to a stop, remembering that it was highly unpractical to
talk of the Assessor's strong attachment when it was rather of his own
that he wished to speak. Gretchen saw that he was getting hopelessly
involved--that it would be necessary for her to come to his assistance,
if he were to be extricated from the labyrinth. She merely cast one
glance at her timorous suitor; but if his eyes had been explicit
previously, it was evident that hers were no less eloquent. The Doctor
took courage all at once, and went on with astounding courage.

"The mistake has made me very unhappy. Yesterday I should not have
dared to confess it to you, though the trouble has weighed cruelly on
my heart. How could I, who was altogether dependent on Waldemar's
generosity, dare to approach you with any such words? But this morning
has brought about a change. The future which is now offered for my
acceptance has in it prosperity enough to enable me, at least, to speak
of my feelings without presumption. Fräulein Margaret, you reproached
me just now with my too pliant nature, with my tendency to give up
weakly, without a struggle. If you knew how renunciation has ever been
my lot, you would take back your words. I have gone through life lonely
and uncared for. My youth was dreary and joyless. I had to impose upon
myself the greatest privations in order to continue my studies, and I
gained nothing by them but a weary dependence on other people's
caprices, or on their good feeling. Believe me, it is hard, after the
most earnest endeavours, with elevated aims and a glowing enthusiasm
for science at one's heart, to have to instruct boys day by day in the
very rudiments of learning, to descend to the level of their
intelligence; and this I had to do long, very long--until Waldemar
enabled me to live for study alone, and so opened to me the career
which now offers itself. It is true that I meant to make the sacrifice
of it. I would have concealed my nomination from him; but at that time
I looked on you as the betrothed of another man. Now"--he had taken
possession of the girl's hand; shyness and embarrassment were things of
the past; now that the floodgates were fairly opened the words came
freely enough from his lips--"the future seems to promise me much.
Whether it has happiness in store for me as well is for you alone to
decide. Say, shall I accept or refuse, Margaret?"

He had now reached the point at which the Assessor had chosen to make
his great dramatic pause, preparatory to falling on his knees, but had
missed his effect, in consequence of the object of his adoration taking
flight at the critical moment. The Doctor did not attempt to kneel; he
even skilfully avoided that fatal pause, saying what he had to say
without hesitation or difficulty, while Gretchen sat before him with
downcast eyes, listening with infinite satisfaction; so that in a very
short time the offer was made, accepted, and even ratified by an
embrace, all going smoothly as a marriage bell.


Herr Assessor Hubert came downstairs. Having brought to an end his long
and minute examination of the coachman, which had left both him and his
victim in a state of semi-exhaustion, he determined to seek relaxation
from the strain of his official duties by giving free play to the
tenderer emotions of his heart. Poor Hubert! He had said that it was
his fate always to arrive too late. As yet, however, he little dreamed
how thoroughly his words would that day be verified. His departure had
been fixed for that afternoon; but, before leaving, he had made up his
mind to come to some clear understanding on the subject of his suit. He
would not set out on his journey without obtaining a definite and
favourable answer. In the glow of this valiant resolve he opened the
door of the anteroom so energetically, and with so much noise, that the
lovers in the adjoining parlour had time to settle themselves in a
perfectly innocent and unsuspicious attitude. Gretchen was discovered
sitting quietly at the window, while the Doctor stood near her, close
to the piano, which, to the newcomer's great relief, was closed to-day.

Hubert nodded condescendingly to Fabian. There was always something
patronising in his manner towards the Doctor, who, in his eyes, was
only an old tutor possessed of no importance but such as he borrowed
from his connection with Wilicza. To-day, with this business of his
love-making on hand, the man was actually in his way, and he gave
himself no trouble to hide it.

"I am sorry to disturb you. Practising French, I suppose?"

The tone was so nonchalant, so exactly that which he would have used to
a paid teacher, that even the Doctor's good-humour was not proof
against it. He had never hitherto found courage to show displeasure at
the behaviour Hubert had thought proper to adopt towards him, but
to-day it wounded him severely in his new dignity of an accepted lover.
He drew himself up, and said with an assured bearing which aroused in
Gretchen the liveliest satisfaction--

"No, you are wrong. We were practising a very different science."

The Assessor remarked nothing unusual; he was busy thinking how he
could most speedily get rid of this troublesome person.

"Ah, historical, no doubt!" said he, maliciously. "That is your hobby,
I think. Unfortunately it is hardly one suited to the taste of young
ladies. You will weary Fräulein Margaret, Doctor Fabian."

The Doctor was about to answer, but Gretchen forestalled him. She
considered it was high time to put a damper on the Assessor, and set
herself to the task with infinite enjoyment.

"You will have to give the Doctor another title soon," said she, with
great emphasis. "He is on the point of accepting a professorship
at J----, which has been offered him on account of his extraordinary
literary and scientific merit."

"What--what?" cried the Assessor, startled, but with an expression of
extreme incredulity. He could not believe in this sudden transformation
of the neglected Fabian into a University Professor.

The latter's good humour had regained the upper hand already, and the
thought of the double mortification which he must of necessity inflict
on the nephew of his rival and the unsuccessful suitor of his
betrothed, revived anew all his conscientious scruples.

"Herr Hubert," he began, supposing that gentleman to be already
acquainted with the recent events at the University-- which was far
from being the case--"it is very painful to me to think that your uncle
should misjudge me, as would, unfortunately, appear to be the case. No
one can more sincerely appreciate and recognise his worth than I do. Be
assured that I had not the smallest share in the controversy which my
'History of Teutonism' provoked. Professor Schwarz seems to think that
I stirred up the dispute from interested motives, and purposely
envenomed it."

A light, a terrible light, began to dawn on the Assessor. He did not
know the name of that obscure individual whom the opposite party had
glorified, by attempting to place his work on a level with, nay above,
Schwarz's writings; but he knew that the book in question was a
'History of Teutonism,' and Fabian's words left no room for doubt that
the author of that book, the intriguer, the criminal aggressor, who had
disturbed the peace of the family celebrity, now stood before him in
person. He would have given vent to his astonishment, to his
indignation in words; but Gretchen, who already felt it incumbent on
her to represent the future Professor's wife, interfered again.

"Yes, Professor Schwarz might be led to fancy so, particularly as Dr.
Fabian is nominated to succeed him in his chair at the University of
J----. You know, of course, that your uncle has sent in his
resignation?"

The Assessor fairly gasped for breath. Fabian cast a supplicating look
at his betrothed, but Gretchen was merciless. She could not forget that
Hubert had boasted but a few months ago of her favour and certain
acceptance of him. She was determined to give him a lesson; so she
played her last trump, and, taking the Doctor by the hand, with solemn
formality proceeded thus--

"At the same time, Herr Assessor, allow me the pleasure of introducing
to you, in the future Professor Fabian, the successor of your
celebrated uncle, my affianced husband."


"I think the Assessor has turned crazy," said Frank, addressing the
Inspector with a look of real uneasiness, as they stood together
outside in the courtyard. "He has just rushed out of the house, like a
lunatic, nearly running over me, and without a word of excuse or
apology shouting for his carriage. He has been so excited all the
morning. I hope this conspiracy business won't turn his head. Just go
after him, will you, and see what he is about, and if he is likely to
do any mischief."

The Inspector shrugged his shoulders, and pointed to the carriage,
which at that moment was seen rolling away at full speed. "It is too
late, Herr Frank. He is off yonder."

Frank shook his head gravely, and went into the house, where he
received an explanation of the Assessor's stormy exit, which calmed his
apprehensions on the score of that gentleman's sanity. The Castle
coachman, who was also standing before the house, folded his hands, and
said with a deep sigh of relief, "He is gone, thank God; now he can't
examine me any more!"




                             CHAPTER XIII.


At Castle Wilicza there reigned a dull sultry atmosphere, pregnant with
storms, which made itself felt even in the servants' quarters. Since
Herr Nordeck's return from the border-station on the previous evening
in the company of Countess Morynska, the barometer had stood at stormy
point in the upper regions of the great house--of this there was but
too good evidence. The young Countess had had an interview with her
aunt on the evening of her arrival, but since then had not left her
room. The Princess herself was but rarely visible; but when she
appeared, her countenance was such that the domestics thought fit to
keep as much as possible out of her way. They knew that frowning brow
and those tightly set lips augured nothing good. Even Waldemar did not
show his accustomed cold composure, the unruffled calm which he was
wont to oppose to the outer world at the very time when the fiercest
emotions were raging within him. There was something gloomy and
irritable in his manner. Perhaps the repulse he had twice met with from
Wanda during the day might be the cause of this. He had not succeeded
in getting sight of her since the moment when he had laid her, half
fainting from agitation and loss of blood, in his mother's arms. She
refused to see him, and yet he knew that she was not seriously ill. The
Doctor had assured him over and over again that the Countess's wound
was not dangerous, and that she would be able to leave for Rakowicz on
the following day, though he had felt it his duty to oppose her wish of
returning home at once.

The young landowner had not indeed much time to devote to such matters;
demands on his attention flowed in from all quarters. The ranger's
corpse was brought over to Wilicza, and then it was that news of the
foresters' flight was had. It was necessary that the station should at
once be placed under other care, and that measures should be taken to
insure the safety of Inspector Fellner, who had been sent over _ad
interim_. Waldemar was forced to order and direct everything himself.
Then came Assessor Hubert, tormenting him with his interrogatories, his
protocols, and his advice, until he lost patience, and resorted to his
mother's approved expedient for shaking off importunate persons.
Hardly, however, was he quit of the Assessor and his fancied
discoveries, when fresh claims were made upon his time and thoughts.
News had been carried to L---- of the state of affairs in the
insurgents' camp, and it was known that there would, in all
probability; be fighting close to the frontier within the next few
days. Orders had been issued in consequence by the military
authorities. The forces stationed along the border were to be
considerably strengthened, so as to guard the territory on this side
from possible violation or disturbance.

A strong detachment of troops passed through Wilicza; and whilst the
men halted down in the village, the officers, who were personally
acquainted with Nordeck, rode up to the Castle. The Princess was
invisible, of course. She had always been invisible to her son's guests
since the latter had openly declared himself against her and hers; so
Waldemar was obliged to receive the new-comers himself--whether he
were, or were not, at that moment disposed to see strangers, no one
thought of inquiring. It behoved him to show them a quiet, impassible
brow, in order that they should gain no further information on the
subject of the family tragedy than that of which they were already
possessed. They knew the rôle which their host's brother and uncle were
playing in the insurrection, the position in which the son stood
towards his mother. This was all food for daily gossip in L----, and
Waldemar was keenly alive to the solicitous care they showed to avoid
in his presence all allusion to these matters, abstaining even from any
mention of the revolt, except as connected with the latest military
movements on the German side. At last, late in the afternoon, the
detachment set out on its way again, so as to reach its destination on
the frontier before dark. Finally Dr. Fabian, the happy lover and
future Professor, appeared with his double news, for which he claimed
his old pupil's interest and sympathy, obliging the latter to take part
in another's joy at the moment when he saw his own happiness hopelessly
shattered and wrecked. It required, indeed, a nature of finely tempered
steel, such as Nordeck's, to face all this with a stoical appearance of
calm composure.

Early on the second day after the event at the border-station, the
Princess sat alone in her drawing-room. Her face told plainly that
there had been little rest for her that night. The grey, misty morning
light without was too faint to penetrate into that lofty, dim
apartment, the greater part of which was still wrapped in shadow; only
the fire on the hearth sent its restless, flickering gleams on the
carpet around, and on the figure of the Princess sitting close by, lost
in gloomy thought.

Resting her head on her hand, she meditated long and sadly. The
accounts which had reached her of the late occurrences still agitated
and engrossed her mind. This woman, whose constant rule it was to take
her stand on the domain of facts, and adroitly to shape her plans in
accordance with them, found herself for once unable to meet the
difficulties before her. So all had been in vain! The unsparing rigour
with which she had torn the veil from her niece's mind, in order to arm
the girl against a growing passion; the absolute separation lasting
through long months; the late interview at Rakowicz--all had been in
vain! The sight of Waldemar in peril had sufficed in one single instant
to scatter all other considerations to the wind. Soon after her
arrival, Wanda had told her aunt all that had happened. The young
Countess was too proud, too completely under the bias of national
prejudices, not to seek at once to clear herself from any suspicion of
what the Princess called 'treason.' She declared to this stern judge
that she had sent no warning, had betrayed no trust; that only at the
last moment, when all secrets connected with the station were beyond
concealment, had she stepped forward and interfered. How she had acted,
what she had done to save Waldemar, she was equally unable to conceal;
the wound on her arm was there to bear evidence against her.

The entrance of her son roused the Princess from all the tormenting
thoughts which were racking her brain. She knew whence he came. Pawlick
had informed her that this morning, for the third time, Herr Nordeck
had attempted to gain admittance to the Countess Morynska, and that on
this occasion he had obtained what he sought. Waldemar approached
slowly, until he stood opposite his mother.

"You come from Wanda?" said she.

"Yes."

The Princess looked up in his face, which at this moment was clearly
lighted up by a blaze of the fitful fire. There were lines of pain in
it--of pain, bitter but repressed.

"So you forced an entrance in spite of her repeated denial? But what,
indeed, could _you_ fail to accomplish! Well, the interview must have
convinced you that it was no prohibition of mine which closed Wanda's
door, as you so positively assumed. It was her own wish not to see you,
a wish you have lightly enough regarded."

"After what Wanda risked on my behalf the day before yesterday, I had
at least the right to see and speak to her. It was necessary for me to
speak to her. Oh, do not be afraid!" he went on with rising bitterness,
as the Princess was about to interrupt him. "Your niece has fully
justified your expectations, and has done all that lay in her power to
rob me of hope. She believes, no doubt, that she is prompted by her own
will alone, while, in reality, she is blindly submitting to be led by
yours. Those were your words, your views, which I have just had
expounded to me by her mouth. If left to herself, I should perhaps have
succeeded, have gained my end by persistent effort, as I succeeded in
getting speech of her; but I lost sight of the fact that for the last
forty-eight hours she has been exclusively under your influence. You
have represented that promise which you persuaded her into giving my
brother, which you forced from her when little more than a child, as an
irrevocable vow, to break which were mortal sin. You have so baited her
with your national prejudices ..."

"Waldemar!" exclaimed his mother, indignantly.

"With the prejudice," he repeated, emphatically, "that it would be
treason to her family and to her people, if she were to consent to
listen to me, because it happens that I am a German, and that
circumstances have forced me into an attitude of hostility towards your
party. Well, you have attained your object. She would rather die now
than lift a hand to free herself, or give me leave to do it for her;
and for this I have to thank you, and you alone."

"I certainly reminded Wanda of her duty," replied the Princess, coldly.
"My words were, however, hardly needed. Reflection had brought her to
her senses, and I trust this may now be the case with you. Ever since
the day on which you openly declared yourself my enemy, I have known
that your old boyish fancy was not extinct, but that it had, on the
contrary, developed into a passion with you. In what measure this
passion was returned, I only learned yesterday. It would be useless to
reproach you with what has happened. No recrimination can undo it now,
but you must feel that you owe it both to yourself and to Leo to
consent to an absolute separation. Wanda sees this and agrees to it.
You must submit also."

"Must I?" asked Waldemar. "You know, mother, that submission is not my
forte, especially where all the happiness of my life is at stake."

The Princess looked up with an expression of surprise and alarm. "What
do you mean? Would you wish to rob your brother of his betrothed, after
robbing him of her love?"

"That Leo never possessed. Wanda did not know her own heart when she
yielded to his affection for her, to her father's wish and yours, and
to the family plans. It is I who possess her love, and now that I have
this certainty, I shall know how to defend my own."

"You take a high tone, Waldemar," said the Princess, almost scornfully.
"Have you reflected as to what answer your brother will be likely to
make to such a claim on your part?"

"If my betrothed declared to me that she had given her love to another,
I would set her free, absolutely, unconditionally, no matter what I
might suffer through it," replied the young man, steadily. "Leo, if I
know him, is not the man to do this. He will be beside himself with
rage, will distract Wanda with his jealousy, and will inflict on us a
series of violent scenes."

"Are you the one to prescribe moderation, you who have done him the
deadliest injury?" returned his mother. "True, Leo is far away,
fighting in his people's sacred cause, hourly risking his life, and
little dreaming the while that his brother, behind his back ..."

She stopped, for Waldemar's hand was laid firmly on hers. "Mother,"
he said, in a voice which acted as a warning to the Princess--she
knew that with him this low constrained tone always preceded an
outbreak--"no more of this. You do not believe in these imputations
yourself. You know better than any one how Wanda and I have struggled
against this passion--know what a moment it was which unsealed our
lips. Behind Leo's back! In my room lies the letter which I was writing
to him before I went to Wanda. My interview with her need make no
change in it. He must be told that the word 'love' has been spoken
between us. We could neither of us endure to conceal it from him. I
intended to give you the letter. You alone have positive information as
to where Leo is now to be found, and you can provide for its reaching
him in safety."

"On no account," cried the Princess, hastily. "I know my son's hot
blood too well to impose such torture on him. To remain at a distance,
possibly for months, a prey to the keenest jealousy, conscious that he
is here threatened in that which he holds most dear--such a trial is
beyond his strength. And yet he must persevere, must remain at his post
until all is decided. No, no, that is not to be thought of. I have
Wanda's word that she will be silent, and you must give me a promise
too. She returns to Rakowicz to-day, and, so soon as she has quite
recovered, will go to our relations in M----, to stay there until Leo
has come back and can defend his rights in person."

"I am aware of it; she told me so herself," replied Waldemar, gloomily.
"It seems she cannot put miles enough between us now. All that love,
that desperation could suggest, I tried with her--in vain. She met me
always with the same unalterable 'no.' Be it so, then, until Leo's
return. Perhaps you are right; it will be better that we should settle
this matter face to face. For myself, I should certainly prefer it. I
am ready to meet him at any moment; what may betide, when we do come
together, is another and a very different question!"

The Princess rose, and went up to her son. "Waldemar, give up these
senseless hopes. I tell you, Wanda would never be yours, even were she
free. The obstacles between you are too many, too insurmountable. You
are mistaken if you reckon on any change of mind in her. What you term
national prejudice is her very life's blood, the food on which she has
been nourished since her earliest youth; she cannot renounce it,
without renouncing life itself. Even though she love you, the daughter
of the Morynskis, the betrothed of Prince Baratowski, knows what duty
and honour require of her; and did she not know it, we are there to
remind her--I, her father, above all Leo himself."

A well-nigh contemptuous smile played about the young man's lips, as he
replied, "Do you really imagine that one of you could hinder me if I
had Wanda's consent? That she should refuse it me, that she should
forbid me to fight on her side, and to win her--there's the sting which
nearly overcame me just now. But, no matter! A man who, like myself,
has never in his life known what love is, and who suddenly sees such
felicity before him, does not forego and put it from him so easily. The
prize is too high for me to yield it up without a struggle. Where I
have all to win, I may stake all, and, were the obstacles between us
tenfold more formidable, Wanda should still be mine!"

There was an indomitable energy in the words. The red firelight from
the hearth shone up into Waldemar's face, which at this moment looked
as though cast in bronze. Once again the Princess was fain to recognise
the fact that it was her son who stood before her with that ominous
blue mark on his brow, with the look and bearing 'of his mother
herself.' Hitherto she had sought in vain to account for the wonderful,
the incredible circumstance that Waldemar--cold, gloomy, repellant
Waldemar--could be preferred to her Leo; that he should have triumphed
over his handsome, chivalrous brother in the matter of a woman's
love,--but now, in this moment, she understood it all.

"Have you forgotten who is your rival?" she asked, with grave emphasis.
"Brother against brother! Shall I look on at a hostile, perhaps a fatal
encounter between my sons? Do you neither of you heed a mother's
anguish?"

"Your sons!" repeated Waldemar. "If a mother's anguish, a mother's
fondness here come in question, the words can only apply to one son.
You cannot forgive me for disturbing your darling's happiness, and I
know a solution of the problem which would cost you but few tears. Make
your mind easy. What I can do to prevent a catastrophe, I will do. Take
care that Leo does not make it impossible for me to think of him as a
brother. Your influence over him is unlimited, he will listen to you. I
have learned to place a restraint on myself, as you are aware; but
there are bounds even to my self-control. Should Leo drive me beyond
these bounds, I will answer for nothing. He does not show a very nice
regard for the honour of others, when he thinks himself injured in any
way."

They were interrupted. A servant brought word to his master that a
noncommissioned officer, belonging to the detachment which had passed
through Wilicza on the previous day, was below and urgent in his
entreaty to be allowed to see Herr Nordeck at once. Waldemar went out.
During the last few days he had grown accustomed to these disturbing
calls upon him, coming always at the moment when he was least disposed
to meet them.

The sergeant announced was waiting in the anteroom. He brought a polite
message and a request from the commanding officer. The detachment had
no sooner arrived at its new post than it had been obliged to proceed
to action. There had been serious fighting during the night; it had
ended in the discomfiture of the insurgents, who had fled in the
greatest disorder, hotly pursued by the victors. Some of the fugitives
had taken refuge on this side the frontier; they had been arrested and
disarmed by a body of patrols, and were now to be sent under escort to
L----. Among them, however, were a few so seriously wounded that it was
feared they would not be able to bear the transport. The captain begged
that the sick might, for the present, be lodged at Wilicza, which lay
within easy reach. The ambulance was now waiting in the village below.
Waldemar was ready on the instant to comply with the demand upon him,
and at once ordered the necessary arrangements to be made at the
manor-farm for the reception of the wounded men. He went over himself
in company of the sergeant.

The Princess remained alone. She had not heard the news, nor taken any
notice of the message which had summoned her son away. Her mind was
busy with far other thoughts.

What would come now? This question arose ever anew before her, like a
menacing spectre which was not to be laid. The Princess knew her sons
well enough to feel what might be expected, were they to meet as
enemies--and deadly enemies they would assuredly be from the moment Leo
discovered the truth; Leo, whose jealousy had at the first vague
suspicion blazed forth so hotly that it had almost seduced him from his
duty--should he now learn that Waldemar had indeed robbed him of the
love of his betrothed--should Waldemar's merely external calm give way
and his native fierceness break out again with its old violence.... The
mother shuddered, recoiling from the abyss which seemed to open out
before her mental vision. She knew she should be powerless then, even
with her youngest-born--that in this matter her influence with him had
been exerted to the uttermost. Waldemar and Leo had each their father's
blood in their veins, and however great the contrast between Nordeck
and Prince Baratowski may have been, in one thing they resembled each
other--in their incapability of bridling their passions when once fully
aroused.

The door of the adjoining room was opened. Perhaps it was Waldemar
coming back--he had been called away in the midst of their
conversation; but the step was more rapid, less steady than his. There
came a rustle in the portières, they were hastily pulled back, and with
a cry of fear and joy the Princess started from her seat.

"Leo, you here!"

Prince Baratowski was in his mother's arms. He returned her embrace,
but he had no word of greeting for her. Silently and hastily he pressed
her to him, but his manner betrayed no gladness at the meeting.

"Whence do you come?" she asked, reflection, and with it anxiety,
quickly regaining the upper hand. "So suddenly, so unexpectedly! And
how could you be so imprudent as to venture up to the Castle in broad
daylight? You must know that you are liable to be arrested! Patrols are
out all over the country. Why did you not wait till dusk?"

Leo raised himself from her arms. "I have waited long enough. I left
yesterday evening; all night I have been on the rack--it was impossible
to pass the frontier. I had to lie in hiding. At last, at daybreak I
managed to cross and to reach the Wilicza woods, but it was hard work
to get to the Castle."

He panted this out in agitated, broken phrases. His mother noticed now
how pale and troubled he looked. She drew him down on to a seat, almost
by force.

"Rest; you are exhausted by the effort and the risk. What madness to
hazard life and freedom for the sake of just seeing us again! You must
have known that our anxiety on your account would more than
counterbalance our joy. I cannot understand how Bronislaus could let
you leave. There must be fighting going on all round you."

"No, no," said Leo, hastily. "Nothing will be done for the next four
and twenty hours. We have exact information as to the enemy's position.
The day after to-morrow--to-morrow, perhaps--may be decisive, but till
then all will be quiet. If there were fighting on hand, I should not be
here; as it was, I could not keep away from Wilicza, even though my
coming should cost me my life or my freedom."

The Princess looked at him uneasily. "Leo, your uncle has given you
leave of absence?" she asked suddenly, seized, as it were, by some
vague dread.

"Yes, yes," replied the young Prince, keeping his eyes averted from his
mother's face. "I tell you all has been foreseen and arranged. I am
posted with my detachment in the woods about A----, in an excellent
position, well covered. My adjutant has the command until I return."

"And Bronislaus?"

"My uncle has assembled the main forces at W----, quite close to the
border. I cover his rear with my troops. But now, mother, ask me no
more questions. Where is Waldemar?"

"Your brother?" said the Princess, at once surprised and alarmed, for
she began to divine the secret connection of events. "Can it be that
you come on his account?"

"I come to seek Waldemar," Leo broke out with stormy vehemence,
"Waldemar and no one else. He is not at the Castle, Pawlick says, but
Wanda is here. So he really did bring her over to Wilicza like a
captured prey, like a chattel of his own--and she allowed it to be! But
I will show him to whom she belongs. I will show him--and her too."

"For God's sake, tell me--you have heard ..."

"What happened at the border-station? Yes, I have heard it. Osiecki's
men joined me yesterday. They brought me word of what they had seen.
Perhaps you understand now why I came over to Wilicza at any risk?"

"This was what I feared!" said the Princess, under her breath.

Leo sprang up, and stood before her with flashing eyes. "And you have
suffered this, mother; you have stood by looking on while my love, my
rights, were being trampled under foot--you who can control, can
command obedience from every one! Has this Waldemar subdued you too? Is
there no one left who dares oppose him? Fool that I was to allow myself
to be talked out of calling him to account before I left, to be
dissuaded from taking Wanda away to a distance where no further meeting
between them would have been possible! But"--speaking now in a tone of
bitter sarcasm--"but my suspicion was an insult to her, and my uncle
accounted my 'blind jealousy' as a crime. Can you see now with your own
eyes? Whilst I was fighting to the death for my country's freedom and
salvation, my betrothed was risking her life for the man who openly
declares himself on the side of our oppressors, who has set his foot on
our necks here in Wilicza, just as the tyrants out yonder have tried to
crush our kindred and friends. She betrays me, forgets her country,
people, family, all, that she may shield him in a moment of peril.
Perhaps she will try to protect him from me; but she had better beware.
I care nothing now which of us perishes, whether it be he or I, or she
with us both."

The Princess seized his hands, as though imploring him to restrain his
fury. "Be calm, Leo; I entreat, I require it of you. You shall not rush
to meet your brother in this spirit of fierce hatred. Listen to me
first."

Leo tore himself free. "I have listened to too much. I have heard
enough to make me mad. Wanda threw herself into his arms when Osiecki
levelled his rifle at him, screened him with her own body, made her
breast his shield--and I am still to hesitate to speak of treachery!
Where is Waldemar? Not so hidden but he can be discovered, I suppose?"

His mother tried in vain to soothe her darling; he did not listen to
her, and while she was considering how, in what manner, it might yet be
possible to avert that fatal meeting, the worst befell, which at that
moment well could have befallen. Waldemar came back.

He entered with a rapid step, and was going up to the Princess, when he
caught sight of Leo. More than surprise, horror and alarm were
portrayed on the elder brother's face at the sight. He turned very
pale, and measured the younger man from head to foot; then his eye
flashed as though with scorn and anger, and he said slowly--

"So this is where you are to be found!"

Leo's countenance betrayed a sort of savage satisfaction on seeing the
object of his hate before him. "You did not expect to see me?" he
asked.

Waldemar made no reply. His more prudent and reflective mind at once
took in the thought of the danger to which Leo was here exposing
himself. He turned, went into the next room and closed the door, and
then came back to them.

"No," he replied, only now answering the question, "and your mother
hardly expected it either."

"I wanted to congratulate you on your heroic deed at the
border-station, for you probably look on it in the light of an
exploit," went on the young Prince, with undisguised scorn. "You shot
down the ranger, and showed a bold front to the rest of the band, I
hear. The dastards did not dare to touch you."

"They crossed the frontier the same night," said Waldemar, "to join
you, probably."

"Yes."

"I thought so. When did you leave your post?"

"Are you going to put me on my trial?" exclaimed Leo. "I am here to
call you to account. Come, we have some matters to talk over together."

"Stay," commanded the Princess. "You shall not meet alone. If an
explanation is inevitable, I will be present at it. Perhaps you will
then not altogether forget that you are brothers."

"Brother or not, he has been guilty of the most shameful treachery
towards me. He knew that Wanda was engaged to me, and he did not
hesitate to decoy her and her love from me. It was the act of a
traitor, of a co ..."

His mother tried to stop him, but in vain. The word 'coward' fell from
his lips, and Waldemar started as though a ball had struck him. The
Princess grew ashy pale. It was not the frenzied passion of her younger
son which so alarmed her, but the expression on the face of the elder
as he drew himself erect. It was Waldemar she held back, Waldemar she
feared, though he was unarmed, while Leo wore his sword at his side.
Stepping between them with all a mother's authority, she called to them
imperatively--

"Waldemar! Leo! control yourselves, I command you."

When the Princess Baratowska issued a command in such a tone and such a
manner, she never failed to obtain a hearing. Even at this crisis her
sons, almost involuntarily, obeyed her behest. Leo let fall the hand he
had already raised to his sword-hilt, and Nordeck paused. The struggle
in the strong man against his old furious violence was terrible to
behold; but his mother's words had caused him to reflect a moment, and
more was not wanting now to recall him to himself.

"Leo, there have been insults enough," he said, hoarsely. "One word,
one single word more, and there will indeed be nothing left us but an
appeal to arms. If yesterday you still had the right to accuse me, you
have forfeited that right to-day. I love Wanda more than you can dream
of; for you have not, as I have, fought for years against this
passion--have not borne aversion, separation, mortal peril, only, after
all, to attain to a conviction that love is stronger than you. But,
even for Wanda's sake, I would not have given up duty and honour, would
not have deserted my appointed post, would not secretly have abandoned
the troops entrusted to me, and broken the oath of obedience I had
sworn to my leader. All this you have done. Our mother shall decide
which of us deserves the ignominious word you have flung at me."

"What is this, Leo?" cried the Princess, startled, a great fear taking
possession of her. "You are here with your uncle's knowledge and
consent? You had express leave from him to come to Wilicza? Answer me!"

A crimson flush dyed the young Prince's face, which up to this time had
been so pale. He did not venture to meet his mother's eye, but turned
upon Waldemar with sudden and furious defiance.

"What do you know of my duty? What matter is it to you? You are on the
side of our enemies. I have stood my ground so far without flinching,
and I shall be forthcoming when I am wanted; for that very reason, this
matter between us must be quickly settled. I have not much time in
which to reckon with you. I must go back to my men to-day, in the
course of an hour or two."

"You will arrive too late," said Waldemar, coldly. "You will not find
them."

Leo evidently did not grasp the meaning of the words he heard. He
stared at his brother, as though the latter had been speaking in some
foreign tongue.

"How long have you been absent from your command?" asked Waldemar
again, this time with such terrible earnest that Leo half involuntarily
made answer--

"Since yesterday evening."

"A surprise took place during the night. Your troops are routed,
dispersed."

A cry broke from the young Prince's lips. He rushed up to the speaker.
"It is impossible--it cannot be! You lie--you wish to scare me, to
drive me away."

"No, it cannot be," said the Princess, with quivering lips. "You cannot
have news of what happened out yonder during the night, Waldemar. I
should have heard it before you. You are deceiving us; do not resort to
such means."

Waldemar looked at his mother in silence for a few seconds--at the
mother who preferred to accuse him of a lie than to believe in an error
of his brother's. Perhaps it was this which made him so icy and
pitiless, as he went on.

"An important post was confided to Prince Baratowski, with strict
orders not to stir from it. He and his troops covered his uncle's rear.
Prince Baratowski was absent from his post when the night attack was
made--successfully. The leader was absent, and those who remained
behind showed themselves unequal to their task. Taken by surprise, they
offered but a weak resistance, totally without plan or method. A
terrible slaughter followed. About twenty men took refuge on this
territory, and fell into the hands of our patrols. Three of the
fugitives lie, grievously wounded, over at the manor-farm. From their
mouths I learned what had happened. All the rest are dispersed or
destroyed."

"And my brother?" asked the Princess, calm, to all appearance, but with
an awful, unnatural calm. "And the Morynski corps? What has become of
them?"

"I do not know," replied Waldemar. "It is said that the victors
advanced on W----. No news has reached us of what has taken place
there."

He was silent. There was a pause of terrible stillness. Leo had hidden
his face in his hands; a deep groan escaped his breast. The Princess
stood erect, her eyes steadily fixed on him. She panted for breath.

"Leave us, Waldemar," said she at last.

He hesitated. His mother had always shown herself cold, often enough
hostile to him. Here, on this very spot, she had confronted him as a
bitter enemy at the time when the contest for supremacy at Wilicza had
brought about an open rupture; but he had never yet seen her as she
appeared at this moment, and he, this hard, relentless Nordeck, was
seized with a feeling akin to anxiety and compassion, as he read his
brother's doom in her face.

"Mother!" he said, in a low tone.

"Go," she repeated. "I have to talk with Prince Baratowski. No third
person can come between us. Leave us alone."

Waldemar obeyed and left the room, but his heart swelled within him as
he went. He was banished in order that the mother might talk to her
son. If she were now about to let that son feel her anger, as she had
so often testified to him her affection, he, the elder, was still a
stranger, as he had ever been. He was told to go; he could not 'come
between' his mother and brother, whether they met in love or hate. A
great bitterness took possession of Nordeck's soul, and yet he felt
that in this hour he was avenged--that his mother, who had ever denied
to him her love, was punished now in her tenderest point, punished
through her darling, the child she had idolised.

Waldemar closed the curtains behind him. He remained in the next room,
so as to guard the entrance, come what might, for he was fully sensible
of the danger to which Leo was exposed. Prince Baratowski had taken too
open and decided a part in the insurrection not to be placed under a
ban, even on this side the frontier; even here condemnation and
imprisonment awaited him. He had imprudently come up to the Castle in
broad daylight. The troop, which had escorted the wounded men, was
still in the village, and at any moment a detachment, convoying the
other fugitives to L----, might pass through Wilicza. It was necessary
to take some precautionary measures.

Waldemar stood at the window, as far from the door as possible. He
would hear nothing of the interview from which he had been shut
out--and, indeed, it was impossible for any sound to penetrate the
heavy velvet folds of the thick portières. But time pressed. More than
half an hour had elapsed, and the two were still closeted together.
Neither the Princess nor Leo seemed mindful of the fact that the
latter's danger grew with every minute. Waldemar, at length, resolved
to interrupt them. He went back into the drawing-room; but paused with
astonishment on entering, for instead of the agitating scene he had
expected to witness, he found the most absolute silence. The Princess
had disappeared, and the door of her study, which had previously stood
open, was now closed. Leo was alone in the room. He lay back in an
armchair, his head buried in the cushions, and neither stirred nor in
any way noticed his brother's appearance. He seemed utterly crushed and
broken. Waldemar went up to him, and spoke his name.

"Rouse yourself," he said, in a low, urgent tone. "Take some thought
for your safety. We are now connected with L---- in a hundred ways. I
cannot secure the Castle from visits which would be dangerous for you.
Retire to your own rooms in the first instance. They will be thought
empty and closed as heretofore, and Pawlick is trustworthy. Come."

Slowly Leo raised his head. Every drop of blood had receded from his
face; it was grey with an ashy pallor. He fixed his large, vacant eyes
on his brother, seeming not to understand him, but his ear caught the
last word mechanically.

"Come where?" he asked.

"Away, in the first place, from these reception-rooms, which are
accessible to so many. Come, I beg of you."

Leo rose in the same mechanical way. He looked round the salon with a
strange expression, as if the familiar place were unknown to him, and
he were trying to recall where he was; but as his eye fell upon the
closed door of his mother's study, he shuddered.

"Where is Wanda?" he asked at length.

"In her room. Do you wish to see her?"

The young Prince shook his head. "No. She, too, would repulse me with
horror and contempt. I don't care to go through it again."

He leaned heavily on the chair; his voice, usually so clear in its
youthful freshness, sounded faint and exhausted. It was plain that the
scene he had gone through with his mother had completely shattered him.

"Leo," said Waldemar, earnestly, "if you had not exasperated me so
terribly, I should not have told you the news in that abrupt way. You
drove me beyond bounds with that fatal word."

"Be satisfied; my mother has given it me back. It is I who am the
traitor--the coward. I had to listen and be silent."

There was something most unnatural in this rigid, dull calm,
contrasting so strongly with the young man's usual fiery impetuosity.
That one half-hour seemed to have altered his whole nature.

"Follow me," urged Waldemar. "For the present you must remain at the
Castle."

"No, I shall go over to W---- at once. I must know what has become of
my uncle and the rest."

"For God's sake, do nothing so rash," exclaimed the elder brother, in
great alarm. "What, you would be mad enough to cross the frontier now,
in broad daylight? It would be neither more nor less than suicide."

"I must," persisted Leo. "I know the place where I can cross. I found
the way this morning, and I can find it a second time."

"And I tell you, you cannot get across. The sentinels on our side
have been doubled since the morning, and over the border there is a
treble line to pass. Orders are out to shoot down any one who does not
give the watchword--and, in any case, you would arrive too late. At
W---- the fate of the day has been decided long ere this."

"No matter," broke out Leo, suddenly passing from his torpor to a state
of wildest desperation. "There will still be some fighting--one other
encounter, and I want no more. If you knew how my mother has maddened
me with her fearful words! She must feel that if my men have been lost
through fault of mine, I shall have to bear all the curse, the hell of
knowing it. She should have been merciful, instead of ... Oh, God! Yet
she is my mother, and for so long I have been all in all to her!"

Waldemar stood by, deeply moved at this outbreak of grief. "I will call
Wanda," he said at last. "She will ..."

"She will do the same. You do not know the women of our people. But,
for that very reason"--a sort of gloomy triumph gleamed through the
young Prince's despair--"for that very reason, you need hope nothing
from them. Wanda will never be yours, never, even though she could
step over my dead body to you, though she may love you, and die of
her love. You are the enemy of her people. You help in the work of
oppression--that will decide your sentence with her. No Polish woman
will be your wife--and it is well that it is so," he went on, with a
deep-drawn sigh. "I could not have died in peace with the thought of
leaving her in your arms; now I am at ease on that point. She is lost
to you as to me."

He would have hurried away, but suddenly stopped, as though a spell had
fallen on him. For a second he seemed to waver, then he went slowly,
hesitatingly, to the door which led to the Princess's study.

"Mother!"

All was still within.

"I wanted to say good-bye to you."

No answer.

"Mother!" The young Prince's voice shook in its eager, heart-rending
entreaty. "Do not let me go from you thus. If I may not see you, say at
least one word--one single word of farewell. It will be the last.
Mother, do you not hear me?"

He was kneeling before the barred door, pressing his brow against it,
as though it must open to him. In vain; the door remained close, and no
sound was heard within. The mother had no parting word for her son; the
Princess Baratowska no pardon for his error.

Leo rose from his knees. His face was rigid again now, only about his
lips there quivered an expression of wild and bitter anguish, such as
never in his young life could he have experienced before. He spoke no
word, but silently took up the cloak which he had cast aside on his
entrance, threw it round his shoulders, and went to the door. His
brother attempted to hold him back. Leo thrust him aside.

"Let me go. Tell Wanda--no, tell her nothing. She does not love me; she
has given me up for you. Good-bye."

He rushed away. Waldemar stood a few minutes in utmost perplexity,
doubtful as to what course he should adopt. At last he seemed to have
taken a resolution. He passed quickly through the adjoining room, to
the Princess's ante-chamber. There he found the house-steward, Pawlick,
with a troubled, anxious face. Directly the old man had heard of the
arrival of his sick countrymen, he had hurried to them, and had been
the first to hear the terrible news. On returning to the Castle,
debating in his own mind as to how he should communicate it to his
mistress, he suddenly beheld Prince Baratowski, standing before him at
the entrance. Leo gave the alarmed old servitor no time to unburthen
himself, but merely passed him with a hasty inquiry for his brother,
for Countess Morynska, and disappeared in his mother's apartments.
Pawlick could not tell whether his young master were informed of the
late events or not; but when, some time later, the unhappy boy rushed
past him unheedingly, one look at his face was sufficient to show him
he knew all.

"Pawlick," said Waldemar, coming in, "you must follow Prince Baratowski
immediately. He is about to commit an act of the maddest rashness,
which will cost him his life, if he really carries out his project. He
means to cross the frontier, now, in daylight."

"God forbid!" exclaimed the old man, horrified.

"I cannot keep him back," continued Nordeck, "and I dare not show
myself at his side. That would only increase his danger; yet, in his
present frame of mind, he must have some one with him. I know you have
still a good seat in the saddle, in spite of your years. The Prince is
on foot. You will be able to come up with him before he reaches the
frontier, for you know the direction he will take--the place whence the
secret communication with the insurgents is kept up. I fear it is in
the neighbourhood of the border-station."

Pawlick did not reply. He dared not answer in the affirmative, but at
this moment courage to deny the truth failed him. Waldemar understood
his silence.

"It is just about there that the most vigilant watch is kept," he
cried, hastily. "I heard it from our officers. How my brother contrived
to get through this morning, I know not. He will not succeed a second
time. Hasten after him, Pawlick. He must not attempt to cross there;
anywhere else rather than there! He must wait--conceal himself until
dusk, in the forester's station itself, if there is no other way.
Inspector Fellner is there; he is on my side, but he will never betray
Leo. Hasten!"

He had no need to speak so urgently. Mortal anxiety on his young
master's account was depicted on the old man's face.

"In ten minutes I shall be ready," said he. "I'll ride as though for my
own life."

He kept his word. Barely ten minutes later he rode out of the Castle
yard. Waldemar, who was standing watching at the window above, drew a
breath of relief.

"That was the only thing to be done. He may perhaps reach him even yet;
and so, at all events, the worst will be averted."

Four, five hours elapsed, and yet no tidings. Generally, when there was
work astir on the frontier, messages came fast and frequent. All the
couriers on their way to L----, passing through Wilicza, would halt in
the village with their news, for a few minutes, at least. To-day these
communications seemed suddenly cut off. Waldemar paced uneasily up and
down his room, trying to think of Pawlick's prolonged absence as a
favourable sign. The old man had certainly come up with Leo, and would
stay by him so long as the young Prince remained on German soil.
Perhaps they were both lying in hiding in the forester's house. At
length, late on in the afternoon, the steward appeared. He came in
hastily, without waiting to be announced.

"Herr Nordeck, I must beg of you to come over to the manor-farm," he
said. "Your presence there is urgently needed."

Waldemar looked up. "What is it? Has anything happened to one of the
wounded?"

"No, not that," said Frank, evasively; "but I must entreat you to come
yourself. We have had news from the border. There has been a decisive
engagement out at W----. A regular battle was fought this morning
against the Morynski corps."

"Well, with what issue?" asked Nordeck, in extreme suspense and
anxiety.

"The insurgents have suffered a terrible defeat. It is said there had
been treason at work, that they were taken by surprise. They defended
themselves desperately, but were forced to succumb to superior numbers
at last. The survivors are scattered to all points of the compass."

"And their leader, Count Morynski?"

The steward looked down.

"Is he dead?"

"No; but seriously wounded, and in the enemy's hands."

"So that, too, is added!" Waldemar murmured. He himself had never been
on intimate terms with his uncle; but Wanda!--he knew with what
passionate love she clung to her father. Had he fallen in the fight,
she would have borne it better than to know him exposed to such a fate,
and exposed to it through _whom_! Who was to blame for the defeat of
that corps, surprised by an attack from which it believed itself
protected by the cover of Prince Baratowski's advance-guard?

Waldemar summoned up all his self-command. "Who brought the news? Is it
trustworthy, or mere report?"

"It was the major domo, Pawlick, who brought it. He is over yonder ..."

"At your house? He brings you the news, though he knows that I have
been waiting hours here for his return. Why did he not come up to the
Castle?"

Frank's eyes sought the ground once more. "He dared not. Her Highness
or the young Countess might have been at the window. They must first be
prepared. Pawlick is not alone, Herr Nordeck."

"What has happened?" cried Waldemar, a cold presentiment stealing over
him.

"Prince Baratowski has fallen," said the steward, in a low voice.
"Pawlick brings the corpse."

Waldemar was silent. He laid his hand over his eyes, and stood for a
few seconds motionless; then, collecting himself with an effort, he
hurried away over to the manor-farm, Frank following him. At the
steward's house, Pawlick met him. He looked up timidly at the lord of
Wilicza, whom he, the Princess's faithful servant, had been wont to
consider as an enemy; but Nordeck's face showed him what he had already
felt that morning, that it was no foe, but his young master's own
brother who stood before him, and all the old man's composure broke
down at the sight.

"Our Princess!" he wailed; "she will never survive it, nor the young
Countess either!"

"You did not reach the Prince in time?" asked Waldemar.

"Oh yes, I came up with him in time, and delivered your warning
message. He would not listen, he was bent on crossing in spite of
everything; he thought the forest thickets would protect him. I
implored, I kneeled to him, and asked him if he would let himself be
shot down by the sentries like some hunted animal. That told at last.
He consented to wait until evening. We were just considering whether we
should venture into the forester's station, when we were met by ..."

"By whom? By a patrol?"

"No, by the farmer of Janowo. We had no treachery to fear from him, he
has always been faithful to the cause. He had been called on to provide
relays for the troops, and was just coming back from the frontier. He
had heard say that a battle was being fought near W----, which was not
yet decided; that the Morynski corps had been surprised, but was
defending itself desperately. It was all over then with reason and
reflection. Our young Prince had only one thought--how to get to
W---- and throw himself into the thick of the fight. We could not hold
him back. He would listen to nothing then. He had left us about half an
hour, when we heard shots fired; two at first, one after the other,
then half a dozen all at once; and then ..." The old man could say no
more, his voice failed him, and a torrent of hot tears burst from his
eyes.

"I have brought the body," he said, after a pause. "The cavalry
captain, who was here yesterday, obtained it for me from the set out
yonder. They could do nothing with a dead man. But I did not dare to
take it straight up to the Castle. We have laid him in there for the
present."

He pointed to a room on the other side of the passage. Waldemar signed
to him and the steward to remain behind, and went in alone. Grey and
dim the waning twilight fell on the lifeless form of the young Prince.
Silently his brother stood by, gazing down upon him. The beautiful
face, which he had seen so radiant with life and happiness, was rigid
now and cold; the flashing dark eyes were closed; and the breast, which
had swelled so high with hope and dreams of liberty, now bore the
death-wound. If the hot wild blood of youth had erred, it had also made
atonement, as it gushed forth from that shattered breast, staining the
clothing with dark, ominous patches. But a few hours before all the
passions of youth had raged in that inanimate frame. Hatred and love,
jealousy and ardent thirst for revenge, despair at the terrible
consequences of an act committed in reckless haste--all were past,
frozen into the icy stagnation of death. One trace alone remained on
the still, pale face. Stamped thereon so deeply, that it seemed
indelibly graven for ever and ever, was that look of anguish which had
quivered round the son's lips when his mother refused him a last
farewell, when she let him go from her without a word of forgiveness.
All else had faded out of sight with life itself; but this one grief
Prince Baratowski had taken with him into his death-struggle; it had
been with him in the last glimmer of consciousness. The shadow of the
grave itself could not shroud it from view.

Waldemar left the room, sombre and mute as he had entered it; but those
who waited for him without, glancing at his troubled face, could see
that he had loved his brother.

"Bring the body up to the Castle," he said. "I will go on first--to my
mother."




                              CHAPTER XIV.


Spring had come round again for the second time since the beginning
of the rebellion, which had blazed up so hotly at first, but which now
lay quelled and crushed. Those wintry March days of the preceding year
had not only brought woe on the Wilicza household, but had been
pregnant with disaster to the whole insurrection. By the defeat of the
Morynski corps, one of its chief supports had been lost to it. When
overtaken by that sudden attack, which found him and his so totally
unprepared--relying, as they did, upon the shelter afforded them by
Prince Baratowski and his troops--Count Morynski had defended himself
with all the energy of desperation; and even when, surrounded and
outnumbered, he saw that all was lost, he yet fought on to the last,
determined to sell his life and liberty as dearly as possible. So long
as he remained at their head, his example inspired his wavering forces,
and kept them together; but when the leader lay bleeding and
unconscious on the ground, all resistance was at an end. Those who
could not fly were hewn down, or taken prisoners by the victorious
party. It was more than a defeat, it was an annihilation; and if that
day's work did not decide the fate of the revolution, it yet marked a
turning-point in its career. From that time forth, the fortunes of the
insurgents declined, steadily and surely. The loss of Morynski, who had
been by far the most redoubtable and energetic of the rebel leaders;
the death of Leo Baratowski, on whom, in spite of his youth, the eyes
of his countrymen were turned; in whom, by virtue of his name and
family traditions their hopes and expectations centred--these were
heavy blows for a party which had long been split into factions, and
divided against itself, and which now fell still further asunder.
Occasionally, it is true, the waning star would gleam out brightly for
a moment. There were other conflicts, other battles glorious with
heroic acts and deeds of desperate valour; but the fact stood out ever
more and more plainly, that the cause for which they fought was a lost
cause. The insurrection, which at first had spread over the whole land,
was forced back into narrower and narrower limits. Post after post fell
into the hands of the enemy; one troop after another was dispersed, or
melted away, and the year, which at its opening had seen the horizon
lurid with revolutionary flames, before its close saw the fire
quenched, the last spark extinguished. Nothing but ashes and ruins
remained to testify of the death-struggle of a people over whom the
fiat of history has long since gone forth.

A weary interval elapsed before Count Morynski's fate was decided. He
first awoke to consciousness in a dungeon, and for a time his serious,
nay, as it was at first believed, mortal wounds rendered all
proceedings against him objectless. For months he lingered in the most
precarious state, and when at length he recovered, it was to find
himself on the threshold of life, confronted with his death-warrant.
For a leader of the revolution, taken armed and in actual fight, no
other fate could be reserved. Sentence of death had been passed on him,
and would most assuredly have been carried out in this, as in
numberless other cases, but for his long and dangerous illness. His
conquerors had not thought fit to inflict capital punishment on a man
supposed to be dying, and when, later on, it became practicable to
apply the law in all its rigour, the rising had been altogether
suppressed, all danger to the land averted. The victors' obdurate
severity relaxed in its turn. Count Morynski was reprieved, his
sentence commuted to exile for life; exile in its bitterest form,
indeed, for he was condemned to deportation to one of the most distant
parts of Siberia--a terrible favour to be granted a man whose whole
life had been one long dream of freedom, and who, even during the years
of his former banishment in France, had never known any restriction on
his personal liberty.

He had not seen those dear to him since the evening on which he had
taken leave of them at Wilicza. Neither his sister, nor even his
daughter, could obtain permission to see him. All their attempts to
reach him were foiled by the strict watch kept on the prisoner, by the
careful measures taken to shut him off from all possible intercourse
with the outer world. For this strict watch they had, indeed,
themselves to blame. More than once had they sought to rescue him from
his captivity. So soon as the Count was on the road to recovery, every
resource the Princess and Wanda had at their command was employed to
facilitate his flight; but all their plans for his deliverance failed,
the last experiment costing Pawlick, the faithful old servant of the
Baratowski house, his life. He had volunteered for the perilous
service, and had even so far succeeded as to put himself in
communication with Morynski. The prisoner had been apprised of what was
doing, the plan for his escape had been agreed upon, but Pawlick was
surprised while engaged in the preparations for it, and, flying from
the spot in the first impulse of his alarm, was shot down by the
sentinels. The discovery of this scheme resulted in a still closer
guard of the unhappy captive, and a keen and vigilant observation of
his friends at large. They could take no further step without arousing
suspicion, and increasing the hardships to which their brother and
father was subjected. They were fain to yield at last to the hopeless
impossibility of the case.

Immediately after the death of her younger son, the Princess had
quitted Wilicza, and taken up her residence at Rakowicz. People thought
it very natural she should not leave her orphaned niece alone. Waldemar
knew better what drove his mother away. He had silently concurred when
she told him of her resolve, making not the slightest attempt to combat
it. He knew that she could no longer bear to live on at the Castle,
that the constant sight of himself was intolerable to her; for had he
not been the cause of the catastrophe by which Leo had lost his life
and destruction had overtaken the troops committed to Leo's charge?
Perhaps it was a relief to Nordeck that the Princess should go, now
that he was obliged daily and hourly to wound her by the manner of his
rule at Wilicza. Having with iron determination once taken the reins in
hand, he held them in a like grasp of iron, stern and steady guidance
being indeed urgently called for. He had been right in saying that
chaos reigned on his estates: no other word would so aptly have
described the disorder which the twenty years of mismanagement during
his late guardian's lifetime and the four years of Baratowski régime
had bequeathed to him; but now, with incredible energy, he set himself
to the work of bringing order out of chaos. At first Waldemar had
enough to do with all his might to stem the tide of rebellion which,
raging beyond the frontier, threatened to overflow his land; but when
once he felt he had free play and liberty of action, when the
insurrection with the thousand secret links binding it to Wilicza
showed signs of dying out, a process of transformation began, quite
unparalleled in its completeness. Such of the officials as failed to
render implicit obedience were dismissed, and those who remained were
subjected to severest control. The whole service of the woods and
forests was placed in other hands; new foresters and rangers were
appointed; the leased-out farms were--in some cases at a great money
sacrifice--redeemed from the tenants in possession, and incorporated
into the main estate, of which the young proprietor himself was sole
administrator. It was a gigantic undertaking for one man single-handed
to regulate and govern so vast a concern, especially now, when old
things were overturned and the new not yet established, when there was
no cohesion, nothing worked in joint; but Waldemar showed himself equal
to the task. He had finally won the day in his contest with his
subordinates. The population about Wilicza still remained hostile; its
hatred of the German in him was abiding and consistent; but even the
outsiders had learned to feel the master's hand, and to bend to its
guiding impulse. By the Princess's departure the malcontents lost their
firmest support, and the collapse of the movement in the neighbouring
province quenched the spirit of resistance on this side the border.
There could, indeed, be no question as yet of that peaceful,
well-ordered calm to be found on similar estates in other provinces.
Neither the times nor circumstances could admit of such a state of
things; but a beginning was made, the path cleared, and the rest must
be left for the future to work out.

Herr Frank, the steward, was still at Wilicza. He had put off his
removal for a year, yielding to the express wish of his employer, who
was most desirous of keeping this clever, experienced ally at his
side for a while. Now only, when the most urgent measures for the
re-establishment of order had been successfully taken, did Frank
definitely resign his office, with a view to carrying out that
long-cherished project of his, of settling down on his own land. The
pretty and not unimportant estate which he had bought, lay in another
province, in a pleasant situation and in full enjoyment of peace and
order, strongly contrasting in this last respect with the old Polish
neighbourhood where mischief was ever brewing, where the very air was
full of plots, against which the steward had battled for twenty years,
but which his soul abhorred. Two months would elapse before the
purchaser could take possession of his new home; in the mean time he
stayed on at Wilicza in his old position.

As to Gretchen, the fact that she was her father's darling had been
amply demonstrated on the occasion of her marriage; her dowry exceeded
all the calculations which Assessor Hubert had so minutely entered into
for the benefit of another. The wedding had taken place in the
preceding autumn, and the newly married pair had gone to live in J----,
where Professor Fabian now actually filled the post which had been
offered to him, and where 'we meet with the most extraordinary
success,' said his wife, writing to her father. Fabian overcame his
timid dread of a public life more easily and quickly than he could have
believed possible, and justified all the expectations entertained with
regard to the author of the 'History of Teutonism,' who had so suddenly
sprung into fame. His amiable, modest manners, which stood out in
strong contrast to his predecessor's uncourteous and overbearing ways,
won for him the general good-will; and his young and blooming wife
contributed not a little to the advancement of his social position, so
gracefully did she preside over the charming home which her father's
generous kindness had fitted up with every elegance and comfort. The
young couple were now about to pay their first visit to the paternal
roof, and were expected to arrive at Wilicza in the course of a few
days.

Things had not gone so well with Assessor Hubert, though a quite
unexpected and rather considerable accession of fortune had lately come
to him. Unfortunately, the event which procured him the legacy,
deprived the family of its man of mark. Professor Schwarz had died some
months before; and, that celebrated scholar being unmarried, his
fortune went to his nearest of kin. Hubert's pecuniary position was
greatly improved thereby, but what did it profit him? The bride on whom
he had so surely counted had given herself to another, and as yet he
did not hold his Counsellorship. There seemed, indeed, for the present,
small prospect of his promotion, although he outdid himself in official
zeal, although he kept the police department of L---- in a twitter of
perpetual alarm with his so-called discoveries, and would have counted
no exertions too great, could he, in that year of revolution, but have
laid hands on a traitor or two, conspiring against his own State. In
this hope he was, however, still destined to be disappointed. And this
same State behaved in a manner altogether disgraceful towards its
most faithful servant; it seemed to have no fitting sense of his
self-sacrifice and general devotedness, but rather to incline to the
view taken by Frank, who declared, in his outspoken way, that the
Assessor was doing one stupid thing after another, and would get
himself turned out of the service before long. Indeed, at every fresh
promotion, Hubert was passed over in so pointed a fashion that his
colleagues began to laugh at and to taunt him with his nonsuccess. Then
a dark resolve shaped itself in the mind of this deeply injured man.
Schwarz's legacy had made him quite independent; why should he longer
endure to be so overlooked and neglected? why continue to serve this
ungrateful State, which persistently refused to recognise his brilliant
abilities, while insignificant men like Dr. Fabian were called to fill
important posts and had distinctions heaped on them?

Hubert spoke of tendering his resignation. He even mentioned the
subject in the presence of the President; but great was his
mortification when that magnate, with crushing affability, encouraged
him in the idea. His Excellency was of opinion that the Assessor, with
his private means, was in no need of an official position, and would do
well to withdraw from its fatigues. Besides, he was of rather an
'excitable' temperament, and such duties as his required, above
everything, calmness and reflection. Hubert felt something of his
celebrated relative's misanthropy arise within him, as he went home
after this conversation, and, on the spur of the moment, drew up his
letter of resignation. This letter was sent off and actually accepted!
As yet, neither the State nor the police department of L---- had been
thrown out of their accustomed grooves by the circumstance, but some
disturbance might be looked for in the ensuing month, when his
threatened retirement would assume the proportions of an accomplished
fact. The nephew had in him too much of that uncle, whose unfortunate
strategy he had lately imitated, not to live in expectation of some
impending catastrophe.

In the courtyard at Rakowicz stood the horse of the young lord of
Wilicza. It happened but rarely that Nordeck rode over to this house,
and when he came, his visits were of short duration. The breach between
him and his nearest relations was still unhealed; late events seemed,
indeed, rather to have widened it, to have sundered them still more
completely.

Countess Morynska and Waldemar were alone together in the lady's
private sitting-room. Wanda was much changed. She had always been pale,
but with a paleness which had nothing in common with the deathly hue
now overspreading her face. Visible tokens were there of all that she
had suffered of late--suffered, in knowing the father she so
passionately loved in prison, sick nigh unto death without the power of
going to him and allaying his pain even for a moment, in witnessing the
final wreck and failure of those bright dreams of liberty, for which he
had so enthusiastically staked his life, and which were not without a
powerful hold on his daughter's soul. Mortal anxiety as to the decision
of this twofold destiny, constant vacillation between hope and fear,
the agitating suspense of each fresh attempt at rescue--these all had
left most evident traces. Wanda's was one of those natures which will
face the heaviest misfortunes with desperate energy so long as a
glimmer of hope is left, but which, when once this glimmer is
extinguished, break down utterly. She seemed nearly to have reached
this despairing point. At the present moment a sort of feverish
excitement upheld her. She had evidently rallied what was but too
surely her last remaining strength.

Waldemar stood before her, unchanged, haughty and unbending as ever. In
his manner there was but little of that forbearance to which the young
Countess's appearance made so urgent an appeal. His attitude was almost
menacing, and mingled anger and pain were in his voice as he spoke to
her.

"For the last time I entreat you to give up the thought. You would only
incur death yourself, without being of any help to your father. It
would be one torment more for him to see you dying before his eyes. You
are bent on following him into that fearful desert, that murderous
climate, to which the strongest succumb; you, who from your earliest
youth have been delicately nursed, and surrounded by all life's
comforts, purpose now to expose yourself to the most cruel privations.
The tried and tempered steel of the Count's endurance may possibly hold
out under them, but you would fall a victim before many months were
over. Ask the doctor, ask your own face; they will tell you that you
would not live a year in that terrible land."

"Do you think my father will live longer?" replied Wanda, with a
trembling voice. "We have nothing more to hope or expect from life, but
we will at least die together."

"And I?" asked Waldemar, with bitter reproach.

She turned away without answering him.

"And I?" he repeated, more vehemently. "What shall I do? What is to
become of me?"

"You at least are free. You have life before you. Bear it--I have worse
to bear!"

An angry remonstrance was on Waldemar's lips; but he glanced at that
pale, troubled face, and that glance made him pause. He forced himself
to be calm.

"Wanda, when, a year ago, we came at last to understand each other, the
promise you had given my brother stood between us. I would have fought
my battle, have won you from him at any cost; but it never came to
that. His death has torn down the barrier, and no matter what may
threaten us from without, it is down, and we are free. By Leo's newly
opened grave, while the sword was still impending over your father's
head, I did not dare speak to you of love, of our union. I forced
myself to wait, to see you but seldom, and only for a few minutes at a
time. When I came over to Rakowicz, you and my mother let me feel that
you still looked on me as an enemy; but I hoped for better days, for a
happier future, and now you meet me with such a determination as this!
Can you not understand that I will combat it as long as breath is left
in me? 'We will die together!'--easily said and easily done when
bullets are flying thick and fast, when, like Leo, one may be shot to
the heart in a moment. But have you reflected what death in exile
really may be? A slow wasting away; a long protracted struggle against
privations which break the spirit before they destroy the body; far
from one's country, cut off from the world and its interests, from all
that intellectual life which to you is as necessary as the air you
breathe; to be weighed down and gradually stifled by the load of
misery! And you require of me that I shall endure to see it, that I
shall stand by, and suffer you voluntarily to dedicate yourself to such
a fate?"

A slight shudder passed through the young Countess's frame. The truth
of his description may have gone home to her; but she persisted in her
silence.

"And your father accepts this incredible sacrifice," went on Waldemar,
more and more excitedly, "and my mother gives her approval to the plan.
Their object is simply this, to drag you from my arms, to achieve which
they will even subject you to a living death. Had I fallen instead of
Leo, and the present cruel fate overtaken the Count, he would have
commanded you to stay, my mother would energetically have defended her
son's rights, and would have compelled you to give up so ill-judged a
scheme; but now, they themselves have suggested these ideas of
martyrdom, although they know that it will be your death. It does away
with all prospect of our union, even in the far distant future, and
that is enough for them!"

"Do not speak so bitterly," Wanda interrupted him. "You do my family
injustice. I give you my word that, in taking this resolution, I have
been guided by none. My father is advancing towards old age. His
wounds, his long imprisonment, more than all else, the defeat of our
cause, have broken him down morally and physically. I am all that is
left to him, the one tie which still binds him to life. I am his
altogether. The lot, which you so forcibly described just now, will be
his lot. Do you think I could have one hour's peace at your side,
knowing him to be journeying towards such a fate alone, abandoned to
his doom, feeling that I myself was bringing on him the crudest grief
of his life, by marrying you, whom he still looks on as one of
our enemies? The one mitigation of his terrible sentence I could
obtain--and that with the utmost difficulty--was a permission for
me to accompany my father. I knew that I should have a hard fight with
you--how hard it would be I am only learning now. Spare me, Waldemar, I
have not much strength left."

"No, not for me," said Waldemar, bitterly. "All the strength and love
in you are given to your father. What shall become of me, how I am to
endure the misery of separation, you do not stay to enquire. I was a
fool when I believed in that impulse which threw you into my arms in a
moment of danger. You were 'Wanda' to me but for an instant. When I saw
you next day, you spoke to me as Countess Morynska, and are so speaking
to me to-day. My mother is right. Your national prejudices are your
very heart's blood, the food on which you have been nourished since
your infancy; you cannot renounce them without renouncing life
itself--to them we are both to be offered up--to them your father is
ready to sacrifice his only child. He would never, never have consented
that you should accompany him, if the man, who loved you, had been a
Pole. I being that man, he will agree to any plan which may part you
from me. What matter, if only he can preserve you from the German, if
he stand faithfully by the national creed? Can you Poles feel nothing
but hate--hate which stretches even beyond the grave?"

"If my father were free, I might perhaps find courage to set him and
all that you call prejudice at defiance," said Wanda, in a low voice.
"As it is, I cannot, and"--here all her old energy gleamed forth
anew--"I will not, for it would be betraying my duty as his child. I
will go with him, even though it costs me my life. I will not leave him
alone in his distress."

She spoke these words with a steady decision which showed her
resolution to be unalterable. Waldemar seemed to feel it. He gave up
his resistance.

"When do you set out?" he asked, after a pause.

"Next month. I am not to see my father again until we meet at O----.
There my aunt will also be allowed one interview with him. She will go
with me so far. You see we need not say good-bye to-day; we have some
weeks before us. But promise me not to come to Rakowicz in the mean
time, not again to assail me with reproaches and arguments, as you have
this morning. I need all my courage for the hour of parting, and you
rob me of it with your despair. We shall see each other yet once
again--until then, farewell!"

"Farewell," he said, shortly, almost roughly, without looking at her,
or taking the hand she held out to him.

"Waldemar!" There was heart-stirring sorrow and reproach in her tone,
but it was powerless to lay his fierce irritation. Anger and misery at
losing his love overcame for the moment all the young man's sense of
justice.

"You may be right," he said, in his harshest tone, "but I cannot
bring myself all at once to appreciate this exalted spirit of
self-sacrifice--still less to share it. My whole nature rises up in
protest against it. As, however, you insist on carrying your plan into
execution, as you have irrevocably decreed our parting, I must see how
I can get through existence alone. I shall make no further moan, that
you know. My bitterness only offends you, it will be best that I should
be silent. Farewell, Wanda."

A conflict was going on in Wanda's mind. She knew that it only needed
one word from her to change all his harshness and austerity into soft
tenderness; but to speak that word now would be to renew the contest,
to endanger the victory so hardly won. She was silent, paused for a
second, then bowed her head slightly, and left the room.

Waldemar let her go. He stood with his face turned to the window. Many
bitter emotions were written on that face, but no trace was there of
the resignation which the woman he loved had required of him. Leaning
his brow against the panes, he remained long motionless, lost in
thought, and only looked up at last on hearing his name spoken.

It was the Princess who had come in unnoticed. How the last year with
all its cruel blows had told upon this woman! When, in the old days,
her son had met her in C---- after a separation of years, she had just
suffered a heavy loss; then as now she had been draped in deepest
mourning. But her husband's death had not bent her proud energetic
spirit; she had clearly recognised the duties devolving on her as a
widow and a mother, had designed, and steadily carried out, the new
plan of life which for a time had made her ruler and mistress of
Wilicza. She had overcome her grief, because self-control was
necessary, because there were other tasks before Baratowski's widow
than that merely of deploring his loss, and Princess Hedwiga had ever
possessed the enviable faculty of subordinating her dearest feelings to
the outward calls of necessity.

Now, however, it was otherwise. The mourner still bore herself erect,
and, at a first cursory glance, no very striking alteration might have
been remarked in her; but he who looked closer would have seen the
change which Leo Baratowski's death had wrought in his mother. There
was a rigid look on her features; not the quiescence of still
resignation, but the dead calm of one who has nothing more to hope or
to lose, for whom life and its interests have no further concern. Those
eyes, once so imperious, were dull now and shaded; the proud brow,
which but a year before had been smooth as marble, was furrowed with
deep lines, telling of anguish, and there were patches of grey in the
dark hair. The blow, which had fallen on this mother, wounding her
mortally in her pride as in her affections, had evidently attacked the
very well-springs of her being, and the defeat of her people, the fate
of the brother, whom, after Leo, she loved more than all on earth, had
done the rest--the once inflexible, indomitable spirit was broken.

"Have you really been plying Wanda with argument and remonstrances
again?" said she, and her voice too was changed; it had a dull, weary
sound. "You must know that it is all in vain."

Waldemar turned round. His face had not cleared; it was dark and
wrathful still, as he answered--

"Yes, it was all in vain."

"I told you so beforehand. Wanda is not one of those women who say No
to-day and to-morrow throw themselves into your arms. Her resolution,
once taken, was irrevocable. You ought to recognise this, instead of
distressing her by re-opening a useless strife. It is you, and you
alone, who show her no mercy."

"I?" exclaimed Waldemar fiercely. "Who was it, then, that suggested
this resolution to her?"

The Princess's eyes met his without flinching. "No one," she replied.
"I, as you know, have long since ceased to interfere between you. I
have learned by too bitter experience how powerless I am to oppose your
passion ever again to attempt to check it, but I neither can nor will
prevent Wanda from going. She is all my brother has in the world. She
will only do her duty in following him."

"To her death," added Waldemar.

The Princess was sitting now, wearily resting her head on her hand.

"Death has come near us too often of late for any one of us to fear it.
When the strokes of Fate fall thick and fast, as they have fallen upon
us, one grows familiar with the worst; and this is the case with Wanda.
We have nothing more to lose, therefore nothing to fear. This unhappy
year has blighted other hopes than yours; so many have gone to their
graves mid blood and tears! You will have to bear it, if, to all the
other ruins, the wreck of your happiness is added."

"You would hardly forgive me were I to rescue my happiness from the
ruin of your hopes," said Waldemar, bitterly. "Well, you need not be
uneasy. I have seen plainly to-day that Wanda is not to be moved."

"And you?"

"Well, I submit."

The Princess scanned his face for some seconds.

"What are you thinking of doing?" she asked suddenly.

"Nothing; you hear--I give up hope and submit to the inevitable."

His mother's eye still rested scrutinisingly upon him.

"You do _not_ submit, or I am much mistaken in my son. Is that
resignation which is written on your brow? You have some plan, some
mad, perilous project. Beware! Wanda's own will stands opposed to you.
She will yield to no compulsion, not even from you."

"We shall see that," replied the young man, coldly--he gave up denial,
finding the mask was seen through. "In any case, you may set your mind
perfectly at ease. My plan may be a mad one, but if it presents any
danger, that danger will be mine only--at most, my life will be at
stake."

"At most, your life?" repeated the Princess. "And you can say that to
reassure your mother!"

"Pardon me, but I think there has been small question with you of a
mother's feelings since the day you lost your Leo."

The Princess gazed fixedly on the ground.

"From that hour you have let me feel that I am childless," she said in
a low tone.

"I?" exclaimed Waldemar. "Was it for me to put obstacles in the
way of your leaving Wilicza. I knew right well that you were hurrying
away to escape from me, that the sight of me was intolerable to you.
Mother"--he drew nearer her involuntarily, and, harsh and unsparing as
were his words, they yet told of a secret rankling pain--"when all your
self-control gave way, and you sank down weeping on my brother's
corpse, I dared not say one comforting word--I dare not even now. I
have always been a stranger, an alien from your heart; I never held a
place in it. If, from time to time, I have come over here to Rakowicz,
it was because I could not live without seeing Wanda. I have never
thought of seeking you, any more than you have sought me in this time
of mourning; but truly the blame of our estrangement does not lie at my
door. Do not impute it to me as a crime that I left you alone in the
bitterest hour of your life."

The Princess had listened in silence, not attempting to interrupt him;
but as she answered, her lips moved convulsively, contracted, as it
were, by some inward spasm.

"If I have loved your brother more than you, I have lost him--how have
I lost him! I could have borne that he should fall, I myself sent him
out to fight for his country--but that he should fall in such a way!"
Her voice failed her, she struggled for breath, and there was a pause
of some seconds before she could continue. "I let my Leo go without a
word of pardon, without the last farewell for which he prayed on his
knees, and that very day they laid him at my feet shot through the
breast. All that is left to me of him--his memory--is indissolubly
connected with that fatal act of his which brought destruction on our
troops. My people's cause is lost; my brother is going to meet a doom
worse by far than death. Wanda will follow him. I stand altogether
alone. I think you may be satisfied, Waldemar, with the manner in which
Fate has avenged you."

In the utter weariness of her voice, the dull rigidity of her features,
there was something far more pathetic than in the wildest outbreak of
sorrow. Waldemar himself could but be impressed by it; he bent down
over her.

"Mother," said he, meaningly; "the Count is still in his own country,
Wanda is still here. She has to-day unconsciously pointed out to me a
way in which I may yet hope to win her. I shall take that way."

The Princess started up in alarm. Her look sought his anxiously,
enquiringly; she read her answer in his eyes.

"You mean to attempt ..."

"What you two have attempted before me. You have failed, I know.
Perhaps I shall succeed better."

A ray of hope illumined the Princess's countenance, but it died out
again immediately. She shook her head.

"No, no; do not undertake it. It is useless; and if I say so, you may
rest assured that no means have been left untried. We have made every
effort, and all in vain. Pawlick has paid for his fidelity with his
life."

"Pawlick was an old man," replied Waldemar, "and an anxious, timorous
nature to boot. He had devotion enough for any task, but he had not the
requisite prudence, not the requisite audacity at a critical moment.
Such an enterprise demands youth and a bold spirit; above all, it is
essential that the principal should act in person, trusting to no one
but himself."

"And himself incur all the terrible danger. We have learned, to our
cost, how they guard their frontiers and their prisoners out yonder.
Waldemar, am I to lose you too?"

Waldemar looked at her in amazement, as the last words burst from her
lips like a cry of pain. A bright flush overspread his face.

"Your brother's freedom depends on it," he reminded her.

"Bronislaus is beyond rescue," said the Princess, hopelessly. "Do not
risk your life now in our lost cause. It has cost victims enough! Think
of Pawlick's fate, of your brother's death!" She seized his hand, and
held it tightly. "You shall not go. I was over rash just now when I
said I had nothing more to lose; at this moment I feel there is one
thing left to me. I will not give up you too, my last, my only child.
Do not go, my son. Your mother entreats you; do not go!"

At length her heart warmed towards him with maternal love; at length
this love spoke to him in tender accents, such as Waldemar had never
before heard from her lips. Even to this proud, inexorable woman an
hour had come, when, seeing all around her tottering and falling, she
was fain to cling desperately to the one support which Fate had left
her. The spurned, neglected son resumed his rights at last. True, the
grave had opened for his brother, before any such rights were accorded
to him.

Any other mother and son might now have clasped each other in a long
embrace, striving in this rush of new-born tenderness to drown all
memory of their long, deep-rooted estrangement; these natures were too
hard, and too alike in their hardness, for any such swift and absolute
revulsion of feeling. Waldemar spoke no word, but for the first time in
his life he lifted his mother's hand to his lips, and pressed them on
it long and fervently.

"You will stay?" implored the Princess.

He drew himself up. The bright flush was still on his face, but the
last few minutes seemed to have transfigured it. All rancour and
bitterness had vanished from his features; his eyes still sparkled with
defiance, but it was the glad defiance of one confident of victory, and
ready to enter the lists and do battle with Fate.

"No," he replied, "I shall go; but I thank you for those words--they
make the venture a light one to me. You have always looked upon me as
your enemy, because I would not lend my hand to further your plans. I
could not do that--I cannot now; but nothing forbids me to rescue the
Count from the consequences of an inhuman verdict. At all events, I am
determined to make the attempt, and, if any one can accomplish it, I
shall. You know the spur which urges me on."

The Princess gave up all resistance. She could not remain quite
hopeless in face of his steady assurance.

"And Wanda?" she asked.

"She said to me to-day, 'If my father were free, I might find courage
to defy all and everything for your sake.' Tell her I may one day
remind her of those words. Now ask me nothing more, mother. You know
that I must act alone, for I alone am unsuspected. You are distrusted
and watched. Any step taken by you would betray the enterprise, any
news sent you by me would jeopardise it. Leave all in my hands; and
now, farewell. I must away, we have no more time to lose."

He touched his mother's hand with his lips once more, and hastened from
her. The Princess felt something akin to a pang at this sudden, rapid
leave-taking. She went up to the window to wave a last adieu to the
traveller as he hurried away; but she waited in vain. His eyes sought,
indeed, one of the Castle windows, as he rode slowly, lingeringly
through the courtyard; but that window was not hers. He gazed
steadfastly, persistently, up to Wanda's room, as though such a look
must have power to draw his love to him, to force from her a parting
'God speed!' It was for her sake alone he was entering on the perilous
task before him; his mother, the reconciliation so lately sealed, all
faded away and sank to nought when his Wanda came in question.

And he really obtained his wish of seeing her once more. The young
Countess must have appeared at the bay-window, for Waldemar's face
suddenly lighted up, as though a ray of sunshine had fallen athwart it.
He waved his hand to her, then gave his Norman the rein, and dashed,
quick as the wind, out of the Castle-yard.

The Princess still stood in her place, gazing after him. He had not
looked back to her--she was forgotten! At this thought, for the first
time that stab went through her heart which had so often traversed
Waldemar's at sight of her tenderness to Leo--and yet in this moment a
conviction she had hitherto refused fully to admit forced itself
irresistibly upon her--a conviction that the inheritance, all share of
which had been denied her darling, had fallen to her first-born son,
that to him his mother's strength and energy had descended, that in
mind and character he approved himself very blood of her blood.




                              CHAPTER XV.


In the forenoon of a cool but sunny May day, Herr Frank was returning
from L---- whither he had been to fetch his daughter and son-in-law.
Professor Fabian and his wife were seated in the carriage with him. The
former's new academical dignity seemed to agree right well with him; he
looked in better health and spirits than ever. His young wife, in
consideration of her husband's position, had assumed a certain
stateliness of demeanour which she did her very best to maintain, and
which was in comic contrast to her fresh, youthful appearance.
Fortunately, she often fell out of her rôle, and became true Gretchen
Frank once more; but at this moment, it was the Professor's wife who
sat by her father's side with much gravity of deportment, giving him an
account of their life in J----.

"Yes, papa, it will be a great relief to us to come and stay with you
for a time," said she, passing her handkerchief over her blooming face,
which certainly did not look as though it needed relief. "We University
people have so many claims upon us. We are expected to interest
ourselves in every possible subject, and our position requires so much
from us. We Germanists stand well to the front in the scientific
movement of the age."

"You certainly appear to stand very much to the front," said the
steward, who was listening with some wonder. "Tell me, child, which of
you really fills the professorial chair at J----, your husband or
yourself?"

"The wife belongs to the husband, so it comes to the same," declared
Gretchen. "Without me Emile never could have accepted the post,
distinguished scholar as he is. Professor Weber said to him the day
before yesterday in my presence, 'My worthy colleague, you are a
perfect treasure to the University, as regards science, but for all the
details of practical life you are worth absolutely nothing. In all such
matters you are quite at sea. It is a mercy your young wife is so well
able to supply your deficiencies.' He is quite right, is he not, Emile?
Without me you would be lost in a social point of view."

"Altogether," assented the Professor, full of faith, and with a look of
grateful tenderness at his wife.

"Do you hear, papa, he owns it," said she, turning to her father.
"Emile is one of the few men who know how to appreciate their wives.
Hubert never would have done that. By-the-by, how is the Assessor? Is
not he made Counsellor even yet?"

"No, not yet, and he is so wrath at it that he has given in his
resignation. At the beginning of next month he quits the service of the
State."

"What a loss for all the future ministries of our country!" laughed
Gretchen. "He had quite made up his mind he should come into office
some day, and he used to practice the ministerial bearing when he was
sitting in our parlour. Is he still tormented with the fixed idea of
discovering traitors and conspirators everywhere?"

Frank laughed in his turn. "I really don't know, for I have hardly seen
him since your engagement was announced, and never once spoken to him.
He has laid my house under a ban ever since that time. You might
certainly have told him the news in a more considerate manner. When he
comes over to Wilicza, which does not happen often, he stops down in
the village, and never comes near the manor-farm. I have no
transactions with him now that Herr Nordeck has taken the direction of
the police into his own hands--but the Assessor may pass for a rising
man nowadays: he inherited the greater part of Schwarz's fortune. The
Professor died a few months ago."

"Of bilious fever, probably," put in Mrs. Fabian.

"Gretchen!" remonstrated her husband, in a tone between entreaty and
reproof.

"Well, he was of a very bilious temperament. He went just as much into
that extreme as you do into the other with your mildness and
forbearance. Just fancy, papa, directly after his nomination to J----,
Emile wrote to the Professor, and assured him that he was quite
innocent of all the disputes which had taken place at the University.
As a matter of course, the letter was never acknowledged,
notwithstanding which, my lord and husband feels himself called upon,
now that this disagreeable but distinguished person has betaken himself
to a better world, to write a grandiloquent article on him, deploring
the loss to science, just as if the deceased had been his dearest
friend."

"I did it from conviction, my dear," said Fabian, in his gentle,
earnest way. "The Professor's ungenial temper too often acted as a
hindrance to that full recognition of his talents which was due to
them. I felt it incumbent on me to recall to the mind of the public
what a loss science has sustained in him. Whatever may have been his
defects of manner, he was a man of rare merit."

Gretchen's lip curled contemptuously.

"Well, he may have been; I'm sure I don't mind. But now to a more
important matter. So Herr Nordeck is not in Wilicza?"

"No," replied the steward, laconically. "He has gone on a journey."

"Yes, we know that. He wrote to my husband not long ago, and said he
was thinking of going over to Altenhof, and that he should probably
spend a few weeks there. Just now, when he has his hands so full of
business at Wilicza!--it seems strange!"

"Waldemar has always looked on Altenhof as his real home," said the
Professor. "For that reason, he never could make up his mind to sell
the estate which Herr Witold bequeathed to him by his will. It is
natural he should wish to revisit the place where all his youth was
passed."

Gretchen looked highly incredulous. "You ought to know your former
pupil better. He is not likely to be troubled by any sentimental
reminiscences of his youth at a time when he is engaged in the
tremendous task of Germanising his Slavonian estates. No, there is
something in the background, his attachment to Countess Morynska,
probably. Perhaps he has resolved to put all thoughts of her out of his
head--it would be the wisest thing he could do! These Polish women
sometimes get quite absurd and irrational with their national
fanaticism, and Countess Wanda is to the full as great a fanatic as any
of them. Not to give her hand to the man she loves, just because he is
a German! I would have taken my Emile, if he had been a Hottentot! and
now he is always fretting over the supposed unhappiness of his dear
Waldemar. He seriously believes that that personage has a heart like
other human beings, which I, for one, emphatically deny."

"Gretchen!" said the Professor again, this time with an attempt to look
severe, in which laudable effort he signally failed.

"Emphatically!" repeated his young wife. "When a man has a grief at his
heart, he shows it one way or another. Herr Nordeck is as busy as
possible, making such a stir here in Wilicza that all L---- is clapping
its hands to its ears, and when he acted as best man at my wedding,
there was not a trace of trouble to be seen in him."

"I have already told you that extreme reserve is one of Waldemar's
chief characteristics," declared Fabian. "This passion might sap and
utterly ruin him without his betraying anything of it to the eyes of
others."

"A man who does not show it when he is crossed in love, can't have any
very deep feelings," persisted Gretchen. "It was plain enough in you
ten paces off. The last few weeks before our engagement, when you
thought I was going to marry the Assessor, you went about with the most
woe-begone countenance. I was dreadfully sorry for you; but you were so
shy, there was no making you speak out."

The steward had abstained from all part in this conversation, being,
apparently, fully taken up by an examination of the trees by the
wayside. The road, which ran for a short distance along the bank of the
river, became rather bad just at this place. The damage caused by the
late high tides had not yet been repaired, and in the present
dilapidated state of the quay, shaken by the constant wash of the
water, some hesitation might reasonably be felt at driving over it.
Frank, it is true, maintained that there was not the slightest danger,
adding that he had passed over that very spot on his outward journey;
but Gretchen did not place absolute reliance on these assurances. She
preferred getting out, and walking the short distance to the
neighbouring bridge. The gentlemen followed her example, and all three
set out, taking a higher footpath, while the carriage proceeded at a
slow pace over the quay below.

They were not the only travellers who considered caution the better
part of valour.

From the bridge a carriage was seen approaching, the occupant of which
appeared to share Gretchen's views. He called to the coachman to stop,
and alighted in his turn, just as Frank and his companions reached the
spot, and thus suddenly found themselves face to face with Herr
Assessor Hubert.

This unexpected meeting caused some painful embarrassment on either
side. The parties had not spoken since the day when the Assessor,
furious at the engagement so recently contracted, had rushed out
of the house, and the steward, under the impression that he had
lost his reason, had sent the Inspector to look after him; but
their acquaintance was of too old standing for them now to pass as
strangers--they all felt that. Frank was the first to recover himself.
He took the best possible way out of the difficulty by going up to the
Assessor as though nothing had happened, offering him his hand in the
most friendly manner, and expressing his pleasure at seeing him again
at last.

The Assessor stood erect and stiff, clothed in black from head to foot.
He had a crape band on his hat, and another on his arm. The family
celebrity was duly mourned, but the money inherited appeared to have
dropped some balm into the heart of the sorrowing nephew, for he looked
the very reverse of disconsolate. There was a peculiar expression on
his face to-day, an exalted self-satisfaction, a tranquil grandeur. He
seemed in the humour to forgive all offences, to make peace with his
kind--so, after a moment's hesitation, he took the offered hand, and
replied by a few polite words.

The Professor and Gretchen now came forward. Hubert cast one glance of
dark reproach at the young lady--who, in her little travelling-hat and
flowing veil, certainly looked charming enough to awaken regretful
feelings in the heart of her former adorer--bowed to her, and then
turned to her husband.

"Professor Fabian," said he, "you have sympathised with the great loss
which my family, and, with it, the whole scientific world, has
experienced. The letter you wrote to my uncle long ago convinced him
that you were blameless with regard to the intrigues which had been
directed against him, that you at least could recognise his great
merits without envy or jealousy. He expressed so much to me himself,
and did you ample justice. The eulogistic notice, which you have
dedicated to his memory, does you great honour; it has been a source of
consolation to his surviving relatives. I thank you in the name of the
family."

Fabian heartily pressed the speaker's hand, which the latter had
voluntarily extended towards him. His predecessor's hostile attitude
and the Assessor's grudge against him had weighed heavily on his soul,
innocent as he knew himself to be of the mortification endured by both.
He condoled with the afflicted nephew in terms of the sincerest
sympathy.

"Yes, at the University we all deeply regret the loss of Professor
Schwarz," said Gretchen; and she was hypocritical enough to offer, in
her turn, a long string of condolences on the death of a man whom she
had thoroughly detested, and whom, even in his grave, she could not
forgive for his criticism on the 'History of Teutonism.'

"And so you have really tendered your resignation?" asked the steward,
adverting to another topic. "You are leaving the service of the State,
Herr Assessor?"

"In a week," assented Hubert. "But, with respect to the title you give
me, Herr Frank, I must permit myself a slight correction. I ..." Here
followed a dramatic pause, far longer and more impressive than that
which in bygone days was intended to prelude his love declaration,
during which pause he looked at his auditors successively, as though to
prepare them for some most weighty intelligence; then, drawing a long
breath, he concluded, "I was yesterday promoted to the rank of
Counsellor."

"Thank goodness, at last!" said Gretchen, in a loud whisper, while her
husband caught hold of her arm in alarm, to warn her against further
imprudent utterances. Fortunately, Hubert had not heard the
exclamation. He received Frank's congratulations with a dignity
befitting the occasion, and then bowed graciously in reply to the good
wishes of the young couple. His placable frame of mind was now
explained. The new Counsellor stood high above all offences committed
against the former Assessor. He forgave all his enemies--he even
forgave the State, which had shown so tardy an appreciation of his
worth.

"The promotion will make no change in my determination," he continued,
it never having occurred to him that to this very determination he owed
his advancement. "The State sometimes finds out too late the value of
its servants; but the die is cast! I still, of course, fulfil the
functions of my former position, and in this, the last week of my
official activity, an important trust has been confided to me. I am now
on my way to W----."

"Across the frontier?" said Fabian, in surprise.

"Exactly. I have to consult with the authorities there relative to the
capture and reddition of a prisoner charged with high treason."

Gretchen gave her husband a look which said plainly: "There, he is
beginning again already! Even the Counsellorship has not cured him of
it"--but Frank had grown attentive all at once; he disguised any
interest he might feel in the subject, however, and merely remarked in
a careless, indifferent way--

"I thought the insurrection was at an end."

"But there are conspiracies on foot still," cried Hubert, eagerly. "A
striking proof of this is now before us. You, probably, are not aware
as yet that Count Morynski, the leader, the soul of the whole
revolution, has escaped from prison."

Fabian started, and his wife evinced a lively surprise; but the steward
only said quietly, "Impossible!"

The new Counsellor shrugged his shoulders. "It is, unfortunately, no
longer any secret. The fact is known already all through L----, where
Wilicza and Rakowicz still form the centre of general interest. Of
course, Wilicza is beyond suspicion now, under Herr Nordeck's energetic
rule; but Rakowicz is the residence of the Princess Baratowska, and I
maintain that that woman is a source of danger to the whole province.
There will be no peace so long as she remains in the land. Heaven knows
whom she may now have stirred up to rescue her brother. Some reckless
madman it must have been, who sets no store by his life. The prisoners
under sentence of deportation are most closely guarded. Notwithstanding
this, the accessory has, or the accessories have, managed to establish
communication with the Count, and to furnish him with the means of
escape. They have found their way into the interior of the fortress,
have reached the very walls of his prison. Traces have been found which
show that the fugitive was there received by them and conveyed past
posts and sentries, over fortifications and ramparts--how is still an
enigma. Half the sentinels on duty must have been bribed. The whole
fort is in commotion at the unheard-of boldness of the enterprise.
Scouts have been out all over the neighbourhood for the last ten days,
but no clue has as yet been found."

Fabian at first had merely listened with some interest to Hubert's
story, but as he heard such repeated mention of the amazing boldness of
the undertaking, he began to be uneasy. A vague presentiment arose in
his mind. He was about to put a hasty question, but just in time he met
a warning look from his father-in-law. That look distinctly forbade him
to speak. The Professor was silent, but his heart quailed within him.

Gretchen had not noticed this dumb intelligence between the two; she
was following the tale with naïve and eager attention. Hubert went on:

"The fugitives cannot be far off, for the escape was discovered almost
immediately. The Count has not yet passed the frontier, that is
certain, and it is equally sure that he will make for it and attempt to
get over on to German territory, where he would be in less danger. He
will probably turn his steps to Rakowicz in the first place, Wilicza,
thank God, being now closed to all such scheming plots and intrigues,
though Herr Nordeck does not happen to be there just at present."

"No," said the steward, speaking with much decision. "He is over at
Altenhof."

"I know; he told the President he was going there when he called to
take leave of him. This absence of his will spare him much trouble and
annoyance. It would be very painful to him to see his uncle captured
and given up, as he will be beyond a doubt."

"What, you would give him up?" cried Gretchen, impetuously.

Hubert looked at her in astonishment.

"Of course; he is a criminal, convicted of treason to a friendly State.
Its Government will insist upon his being delivered up."

The girl looked from her husband to her father; she could not
understand how it was they neither of them joined in her
expostulations, but Frank's eyes were fixed on something in the far
distance, and Fabian uttered not a syllable.

Brave Gretchen, however, was not so easily intimidated. She indulged in
a series of no very flattering comments on the 'friendly State,' and
even directed some very pointed remarks against the Government of her
own land. Hubert listened in horror. For the first time he thanked God
in his heart that he had not made of this young lady a Counsellor's
consort. She was proving herself unfit to be the wife of a loyal
official. There was a taint of treason in her too!

"In your place, I should have refused the mission," she concluded at
last. "Just on the eve of your retirement, you could very well have
done so. I would not have closed my official career by delivering up a
poor hunted captive into the hands of his tormentors."

"The Government has named me Counsellor," replied Hubert, solemnly
emphasising the title, "and as such I shall do my duty. My State
commands, I obey--but I see that my carriage has got safely over the
critical spot. Madam, adieu; adieu, gentlemen. Duty calls me away!" and
with a bow and a flourish, he left them.

"Did you hear, Emile?" asked the young lady, when they were once more
seated in the carriage. "They have made him a Counsellor just a week
before he retires, so that he shall have no time to do anything stupid
in his new capacity. Well, he can't do much harm in future with the
mere title!"

She went on in this way, discussing her old friend's advancement and
Count Morynski's escape at great length, but received only short and
unsatisfactory answers. Her father and husband had become remarkably
monosyllabic, and it was fortunate that they soon reached the Wilicza
domain, for the conversation began to flag hopelessly.

The Professor's wife found many occasions for surprise, some even for
annoyance, during the course of the day. What perplexed her most, was
her father's behaviour. He was undoubtedly pleased to have them there;
he had taken her in his arms that morning and welcomed them both with
such hearty warmth, yet it seemed as though their coming, which had
been announced to him by a telegram the day before, was not quite
opportune, as though he would willingly have deferred it a little. He
declared himself to be overwhelmed with business, and appeared indeed
to be constantly occupied. Soon after they got home, he took his
son-in-law with him into his room, and they remained nearly an hour
closeted there together.

Gretchen's indignation waxed hot within her on finding that she was
neither included in this secret conference, nor enlightened as to its
nature by her husband. She set herself to watch and to think, and
suddenly many little things, which she had noticed during the journey,
recurred to her mind. Skilfully putting these together, she arrived at
a result, the correctness of which, to her mind, admitted of no doubt.

After dinner, the husband and wife remained alone together in the
parlour. The Professor paced up and down the room in a manner very
unusual to him, striving in vain to hide some inward uneasiness, but
too much absorbed by his thoughts to notice the silent fit which had
overtaken his young companion, generally so animated. Gretchen sat on
the sofa, and watched him for some time. At last she advanced to the
attack.

"Emile," she began, with a solemnity not exceeded by Hubert's, "Emile,
I am shamefully treated here!"

Fabian looked up, greatly shocked.

"You! Good Heavens, by whom?"

"By my papa, and, what is worst of all, by my own husband."

The Professor was at his wife's side in a moment. He took her hand in
his, but she drew it away very ungraciously.

"Shamefully!" she repeated. "You show no confidence in me whatever. You
have secrets from me. You treat me like a child, me, a married woman,
wife of a Professor of the J---- University! It is abominable!"

"Dear Gretchen," said Fabian, timidly, and then stopped.

"What was papa saying to you just now, when you were in his room?"
enquired Gretchen. "Why do you not confide in me? What are these
secrets between you two? Do not deny it, Emile, there are secrets
between you."

The Professor denied nothing. He looked down, and seemed extremely
oppressed and uncomfortable. His wife darted a severe, rebuking glance
at him.

"Well, I will tell _you_, then. There is a new plot on foot at Wilicza,
a conspiracy, as Hubert would say, and papa is in it this time, and he
has dragged you into it too. The whole thing is connected with Count
Morynski's rescue ..."

"Hush, child, for Heaven's sake!" cried Fabian in alarm; but Gretchen
paid no heed to his adjuration; she went on quite undisturbed.

"And Herr Nordeck is not at Altenhof, that is pretty sure, or you would
not be in such a state of anxiety. What is Count Morynski to you, or
his escape either? But your beloved Waldemar is concerned in it, and
that is why you are in such a flutter. It has been he who has carried
off the Count--that is just the sort of thing he would do."

The Professor was struck dumb with astonishment at his wife's powers of
discernment and combination. He was much impressed with her cleverness,
but a little disturbed to hear her count off on her fingers those
secrets which he had believed to be impenetrable.

"And no one says a word to me of it," continued Gretchen, with
increasing irritation, "not a word, although you know very well I can
keep a secret, though it was I, all by myself, who saved the Castle
that time by sending the Assessor over to Janowo. The Princess and
Countess Wanda will know everything. The Polish ladies always do
know everything. _Their_ husbands and fathers make confidants of
them--_they_ are allowed to take a part in politics, even in
conspiracies; but we poor German women are always oppressed and kept in
the background. We are humiliated, and treated like slaves ..." Here
the Professor's wife was so overcome with the sense of her slavery and
humiliation that she began to sob.

"Gretchen, my dear Gretchen, don't cry, I beseech you. You know that I
have no secrets from you in anything concerning myself; but there are
others implicated in this, and I have given my word to speak of it to
no one, not even to you."

"How can a married man give his word not to tell his wife!" cried
Gretchen, still sobbing. "It does not count for anything; no one has a
right to ask it of him."

"Well, but I have given it," said Fabian in despair, "so calm yourself.
I cannot bear to see you in tears. I ..."

"Well, this is a pretty specimen of petticoat government," exclaimed
Frank, who had come in meanwhile unnoticed, and had been a witness of
the little scene. "When she talks of oppression and slavery it seems to
me my young lady makes a mistake in the person. And you can put up with
that, Emile? Don't be offended--you may be a most remarkable scholar,
but, as a husband, I must say you play a sorry part."

He could not have come to his son-in-law's aid more effectually than by
these last words. Gretchen had no sooner heard them than she went over
to her husband's side.

"Emile is an excellent husband," she declared, indignantly, the source
of her tears suddenly drying up. "You need not reproach him, papa; it
is right and proper that a husband should have some feeling for his
wife."

Frank laughed. "Don't be so hasty, child, I meant no harm. Well, you
have put yourself out quite needlessly. As you have guessed so near the
truth, we must take you into the plot now, we can't help ourselves.
News has just arrived ..."

"From Waldemar?" inquired the Professor, interrupting him with eager
anxiety.

His father-in-law shook his head.

"No, from Rakowicz. We cannot hear from Herr Nordeck. He will either
come or ... or we must make up our minds to the worst. But the Princess
and her niece are to arrive in the course of the afternoon, and as soon
as they are there, you must go up to the Castle. It may look strange
that the two ladies, who have not been near Wilicza for a year, should
come over just now so unexpectedly, and should remain there alone in
the absence of the master. Your presence will give a more harmless
colour to the business; it will seem quite a natural coincidence. You
must pay a visit to the mother of your former pupil, and present
Gretchen as your wife. That will satisfy the servant-folk. The
ladies know the exact state of the case. I shall ride over to the
border-station, and wait there with the horses, as has been agreed. And
now, child, your husband must tell you all the rest, I have no time to
lose."

He went, and Gretchen sat down on the sofa again to receive her
husband's communications, well-pleased that she was now to be placed on
a par with Polish women, and admitted to take part in a conspiracy.


Evening had come, or rather night. All was quiet and asleep at the
manor-farm, and up at the Castle the servants had been despatched to
bed as early as possible. Some windows on the first story were still
lighted up, those of the green salon and the two adjoining rooms. In
one of the latter stood the tea-table, which had been prepared as
usual--any change might have excited surprise below stairs--but the
meal was naturally a mere form. Neither the Princess nor Wanda was to
be induced to take any refreshment, and even Professor Fabian turned
rebellious, and refused to have any tea. He declared he could not
swallow a drop, when his wife urged on him the necessity of taking some
support. She had brought him to the table almost by force, and was
administering a low-toned but most impressive lecture.

"Don't be so anxious, Emile. I shall have you ill with the agitation,
and the two ladies in there as well. Countess Wanda looks as pale as a
corpse, and the Princess's face is enough to frighten one. Neither of
them utters a word. I can't bear this state of mute suspense any
longer, and it will be a relief to them to be alone. We will leave them
together for half an hour."

Fabian assented, but pushed away the tea-cup she had forced upon him.

"I can't think why you are all in such despair. If Herr Nordeck has
declared that he will be here with the Count before midnight, he will
be here, even if a whole regiment is posted on the border ready to take
him. That man can manage anything. There must be something in the
superstition of his Wilicza people who one and all hold him to be
bullet-proof. He has just gone through dangers, only to hear of which
makes one's hair stand on end, and gone through them unharmed. He will
get safely across the frontier, you'll see."

"God grant it!" sighed Fabian. "If only that fellow Hubert were not
over at W----, precisely to-day of all days. He would recognise
Waldemar and the Count in any disguise. Suppose he should meet them!"

"Hubert has been doing stupid things all his life, he won't be likely
to do a clever one now in the last week of his official career. It is
not in him," said Gretchen contemptuously. "But he is right in one
thing. One no sooner sets foot in this Wilicza than one finds one's
self in the midst of a conspiracy. It must be in the air, I think, for
I don't understand else how we Germans allow ourselves to be brought
into it, how it is we are made to conspire in favour of these Poles,
Herr Nordeck, papa, even you and I. Well, I hope this is the last plot
Wilicza will ever see!"

The Princess and Wanda had remained in the adjoining room. Nothing had
been changed, either here, or in any of the other apartments, since she
had left them a year before; yet there was a desolate, uninhabited look
about the house, which seemed to say that the mistress had been long
absent. The lamp, which stood on a side-table, only lighted up a part
of the dark and lofty chamber; the rest of it lay altogether in shadow.

In this deep shadow sat the Princess, motionless, her eyes fixed on
vacancy. It was the very place in which she had sat on the morning of
Leo's fatal visit, of that visit which had resulted in so terrible a
catastrophe. The mother struggled hard against the recollections which
assailed her on all sides at the return to a place so associated with
her most cruel griefs. What had become of those proud, far-reaching
plans, of those hopes and projects which had all found their centre
here. They lay in ruins. Bronislaus' rescue was the one concession
wrung from Fate, and even this rescue was but half achieved. Perhaps at
this instant he and Waldemar were paying with their lives for their
attempt to consummate it.

Wanda stood in the recess of the centre window, looking out with a
fixed, strained gaze, as though her eyes could pierce through the
darkness reigning without. She had opened the window, but she did not
feel how sharply the night air smote her, did not know that she
shivered beneath its breath. For the Countess Morynska this hour
contained no remembrance of the past, with all its shattered plans and
hopes; all her thoughts were concentrated on the coming event, as she
waited in an anguish of expectation and deadly suspense. She no longer
trembled for her father alone, but for Waldemar also--_chiefly_ for
Waldemar, indeed, her heart maintaining its rights, spite of
everything.

It was a cool and rather stormy night; there was no moonlight, and the
stars, which here and there twinkled forth in the overcast sky, soon
disappeared again behind the clouds. All around the Castle there was
peace, deep peace; the park lay silent and dark, and, in the pauses
between the gusts of wind, each falling leaf might be heard.

Suddenly Wanda started, and a half-suppressed exclamation escaped her
lips. In an instant the Princess stood by her side.

"What is it? Did you see anything?"

"No; but I thought I heard the sound of horses' hoofs in the distance."

"Mere fancy! You have so often thought you heard it. It was nothing."

Yet the Princess followed her niece's example, and leaned far out of
the window. The two women waited, listening breathlessly. Yes, a sound
was borne over to them certainly; but it was distant and indistinct,
and now again the wind rose, and wafted it from them altogether. Full
ten minutes passed in torturing suspense--then, at last, steps were
heard in one of the side avenues of the park, where there was an outlet
into the forest--careful steps, warily approaching, and their eyes,
strained to the uttermost, could discern through the darkness two
figures issuing from among the trees.

Fabian rushed into the room. He had been watching too.

"They are there," he whispered, hardly able to restrain his emotion.
"They are coming up the side steps. The little door leading to the park
is open. I went to see not half an hour ago."

Wanda would have flown to meet the new-comers, but Gretchen, who had
followed her husband, held her back.

"Stay here, Countess Morynska," she entreated. "We are not alone in the
Castle. There is no safety but in your own rooms."

The Princess said not a word, but grasped her niece's hand to check the
imprudent impulse. They were not long kept on the rack now. Only a few
minutes--then the door flew open, and Count Morynski stood on the
threshold, Waldemar's tall figure appearing in the background. Almost
in the same instant Wanda lay in her father's arms.

Fabian and Gretchen had tact enough to withdraw, feeling that, after
all, they were but strangers, and that the family should be left alone.
But Waldemar, too, seemed to reckon himself among the strangers, for,
instead of going in, he closed the door behind the Count, and stayed
himself in the outer room. Turning to his old friend and tutor, he held
out his hand to him with hearty warmth.

"Well, we have got here in safety," said he, drawing a deep breath.
"The principal danger, at least, is over. We stand on German soil."

Fabian clasped the offered hand in both his own. "Oh, Waldemar, what a
venture for you to plunge into! Suppose you had been discovered!"

Waldemar smiled. "It does not do to suppose anything in such an
undertaking. A man, who wants to cross an abyss, must not think of
turning giddy, or he is lost. I only took such possibilities into
account so far as to provide against them. I kept my aim steadily in
view, and looked neither to the right nor to the left. You see my plan
has answered."

He threw off his cloak, drew a revolver from his breast-pocket, and
laid it on the table. Gretchen, who was standing by, retreated a step.

"Don't be alarmed, my dear young lady," said Nordeck, reassuringly.
"The weapon has not been used. No blood has been spilled in this
business, though at first it did not seem likely we should get through
it without. We found unexpected succour in time of need from our friend
the Assessor Hubert."

"From the new Counsellor?" exclaimed Gretchen, in astonishment.

"Yes,--is he made Counsellor? Well, he can air his new dignity over in
Poland. We came across the frontier with his carriage and papers."

The Professor and his wife uttered a simultaneous expression of
surprise.

"He certainly did not render us the service voluntarily," went on
Nordeck. "On the contrary, he will not fail to call us highway robbers;
but necessity knows no law. Life and liberty were at stake, and we did
not stay long to consider. Yesterday at noon, we arrived at an inn in a
Polish village, not much more than a couple of leagues from the
frontier. We knew that they were on our track, and we were anxious to
get over on to German territory at any price; but the host warned us
not to continue our flight before dusk. He said it was impossible, the
whole country was up after us. The man was a Pole; his two sons had
served under Count Morynski during the insurrection; the whole family
would have given their lives for their former chief. The warning was
not to be disregarded, so we stayed. Towards evening, when our horses
were standing ready saddled for us in the stables, the Assessor Hubert
suddenly made his appearance in the village on his way back from W----.
His carriage had met with some slight accident, which was to be
repaired as speedily as possible. He had left it at the village smithy,
and had come on to the inn with the main intention of finding out
whether any traces of us had been found. As he was unacquainted with
the language, his Polish coachman had to act as interpreter--he had
brought the man on with him for this purpose, instead of leaving him
with the carriage. The landlord, of course, declared he knew nothing.
We were hidden in the upper story, and could distinctly hear the
Assessor declaiming in his favourite way about traitors and criminals
fleeing from justice, adding that the pursuers were already on their
track. In this way he was kind enough to disclose to us the fact that
we really were pursued, and that it was known which way we had taken.
He had even heard there were two of us, and that we were mounted. Now
we had no choice left but to get away as quickly as possible. The
imminence of the danger inspired me with a happy thought. I transmitted
the necessary instructions to the landlord through his wife, and he
understood them at once. The Assessor was informed that it would take a
full hour to mend his carriage. He was very wrath at first, but after a
time came to the conclusion that he had better stay at the inn and have
some supper, as was suggested to him. Meanwhile we were out of the back
door, and off to the smithy. The landlord's son had taken care that the
carriage should be ready for us. I got in, my uncle"--this was the
first time Waldemar had so designated the Count--"my uncle, who had
passed for my servant throughout the journey, took the reins, and we
drove out of the village on the other side.

"In the carriage I made an invaluable discovery. The Assessor's
overcoat lay on the back seat with his pocket-book and all his papers
which this prudent official had either confidingly left in it, or
forgotten--a fresh proof of his eminent qualifications for the service
of the State. Unfortunately, with my gigantic stature, I could make no
use of his passport, but among the other papers I found many that were
likely to be of use to us. For instance, a warrant from the L----
police for Count Morynski's arrest, even upon German soil, a letter
empowering the Assessor to consult with the authorities at W---- as to
the best means of attaining this object, together with several notices
from these authorities as to the probable direction we had taken, and
the measures already adopted for our capture. We were unscrupulous
enough to turn these documents, destined for our confusion, to our own
advantage. The Assessor had said at the inn that he had come through
A---- that morning. There the carriage would no doubt be recognised,
and the change in its occupants remarked, so we made a _détour_ round
by the next military post, and drove up quite openly as Assessor Hubert
and his coachman. I showed the necessary papers, and demanded to be let
through as speedily as possible, alleging that I was on the track of
the fugitives, and that there was pressing need for haste. That plea
was irresistible. Nobody asked for our passports. We were considered as
sufficiently identified, and so got safely across the frontier. A mile
or two from it on this side we left the carriage on the high road in
the neighbourhood of a village where it is sure to be found, and
reached the Wilicza woods on foot. At the border-station we found the
steward waiting with horses, according to previous agreement. We
mounted, rode off at full speed, and here we are."

Gretchen, who had been listening with eager interest, was highly
delighted at the trick played on her former suitor, but Fabian's good
nature would not allow of his feeling any such mischievous pleasure. On
the contrary, he asked in quite an anxious tone--

"And poor Hubert?"

"He is over yonder in Poland without his carriage or papers of
identification," said Waldemar, drily. "He may think himself lucky if
he is not taken for a traitor himself this time. It is quite on the
cards. If our pursuers really do reach the inn to-night, they will find
two strangers with their horses ready saddled, and the landlord will
take care not to clear up any possible mistake which might favour our
flight. The coachman, whose every feature betrays the Pole, and who,
moreover, is rather an imposing-looking person, might at need pass for
a nobleman in disguise, and the Assessor for his accomplice and
liberator. The latter cannot prove his identity, he does not speak the
language, and our neighbours are not in the habit of using much
ceremony in the matter of arrests, or of adhering very strictly to
prescribed forms. Perhaps the eminent Counsellor is now enjoying the
little treat he wished to give us on our arrival at Wilicza, that of
being taken up as a 'suspicious character' and transported handcuffed
to the nearest town."

"That would indeed be an incomparable close to his official career,"
laughed Gretchen, disregarding her husband's grave look.

"But enough now of this Hubert," broke off Waldemar. "I shall see you
again when I come back? I am here at the Castle _incognito_ to-night.
It will be some days before I officially return from Altenhof, where I
am supposed to be all the time. Now I must go and see my mother and my
cousin. The first agitation of the meeting will be over now."

He opened the door, and went into the next room where his family was
assembled. Count Morynski was seated in an easy-chair, still holding
his daughter in his arms, as she kneeled before him, resting her head
on his shoulder. The Count had aged considerably. The thirteen months
of his imprisonment seemed to have been so many years to him. His hair
and beard had grown quite white, and his face showed indelible traces
of the sufferings he had undergone through captivity and sickness, and,
above all, through the knowledge of his people's fate. He had been a
robust and energetic man when, little more than a year ago, he had
taken leave of his sister and daughter at Wilicza; he came back now old
and broken, his appearance telling plainly of health irremediably
shattered.

The Princess, who was standing by the Count's side, was the first to
notice her son's entrance. She went forward to meet him.

"So you have come at last, Waldemar," she said, reproachfully. "We
thought you were going to abandon us altogether."

"I did not wish to disturb your first meeting," said Waldemar.

"Do you still insist on being as a stranger to us? You have been so
long enough. My son"--and the Princess, deeply moved, held out her arms
to him--"my son, I thank you."

Waldemar was folded to his mother's heart for the first time since his
childhood, and in that long and ardent embrace the bitter estrangement
of years gave way; all that had once been the cause of coldness and
hostility between them sank out of sight. Here, too, a barrier was
torn down, an invisible barrier, but one productive of much evil, which
had too long stood between two human beings bound to each other by the
most sacred ties of blood. At length the son had entered into his
birthright, had won for himself his mother's love.

The Count now rose in his turn, and held out his hand to his deliverer.
"You do well to thank him, Hedwiga," said he; "as yet you do not know
all that he has risked in my behalf."

"The venture was not so great as it seemed," Waldemar replied, lightly.
"I had smoothed the way beforehand. Wherever there are prisons, bribery
is possible. Without that golden key I should never have made my way
into the fortress, still less should we have forced a passage out."

Wanda stood by her father, still clinging to his arm as though she
feared he might be torn from her again. She alone had spoken no word of
thanks, but her eyes had sought Waldemar's as she turned to him on his
entrance, and their glance must have been more eloquent than words. He
seemed satisfied, and made no attempt to approach her more directly.

"The danger is not quite over yet," he said, turning to the Count
again. "We have it unfortunately in black and white that even here you
are threatened with imprisonment and extradition. At the present moment
you are safe at Wilicza. Frank has promised to keep watch for us, and
you have urgent need of a few hours' rest, but to-morrow morning must
see us on the road to S----.

"You will not take the direct route to France or England then?" said
the Princess.

"No, time is too precious, and that is precisely the route they will
expect us to choose. We must make for the sea. S---- is the nearest
port--we can be there by to-morrow evening. I have arranged everything.
An English ship has been lying in harbour for the last month, of which
I have secured to myself the sole disposal. She is ready to put to sea
at any moment, and will take you straight to England, uncle. From
thence, France, Switzerland, Italy may easily be reached. You can take
up your abode where you will. Once out on the open sea, and you are
safe."

"And you, my dear Waldemar?" His uncle now addressed him in the
affectionate tone he had so long reserved for his younger brother.
"Will you pay no penalty for your boldness? Who can tell whether the
secret of my escape will be strictly kept? There are so many in it."

Waldemar smiled. "I certainly have been forced to give the lie to my
nature on this occasion, and to make confidences right and left.
Nothing could be done without it. Happily, all my confidants have
become my accessories; they cannot betray me without exposing
themselves. The rescue will be laid to my mother's charge, and
if, at some future time, reports of the truth get wind, well, we live
here on German territory. Count Morynski was neither accused nor
sentenced in this country, his rescue cannot therefore be here
accounted as a crime. It will seem natural enough that, in spite
of our political differences, I should stretch out my hand to save my
uncle--particularly when it is known that to that relationship another
has been added--that he has become my father also."

A quiver passed over Morynski's face at this reminder. He tried to
repress it, but in vain--it told of a pain he was unable to master. He
had long known of this love, which to him, as to his sister, had
appeared as a misfortune, almost as a crime. He, too, had fought
against it with all the means in his power, and, quite lately, had
endeavoured to withdraw Wanda from its influence. He had acquiesced
when she resolved on going with him to almost certain destruction; he
had accepted her offer with the one view of preventing this marriage.
It was a heavy sacrifice--it cost him a great struggle with those
national prejudices, that national hatred, which had been the ruling
principle of his life--but he looked at the man whose hand had led him
forth out of prison, who had risked life and freedom in order to win
back both for him--then he bent down to his daughter.

"Wanda," he said in a low voice.

Wanda looked up at him. Her father's face had never appeared to her so
weary, so sorrowful, as at this moment. She had been prepared to find
him altered, but she had not expected so terrible a change, and, as she
read in his eyes all that it cost him to give his consent, her own
personal wishes receded into the background, and the daughter's
passionate love burned up brightly within her.

"Not now, Waldemar," she implored, with a trembling voice. "You see
what my father has suffered, what he is still suffering. You cannot ask
me to leave him now when we have but just met. Let me stay with him for
a time, only for one year! You have preserved him from the worst of
all; but he has to go out among strangers, into banishment. Shall I,
can I let him go alone?"

Waldemar was silent. He had not courage to recall to Wanda the words
she had spoken at their last meeting. The sight of the Count's bowed
frame forbade any touch of anger, and pleaded powerfully in favour of
the daughter's prayer, but all the egotism of love rose up in revolt
against it. The young man had braved so much to earn for himself the
hand of the woman he loved, he could not bear that the reward should
longer be denied him. With contracted brow and lips tightly pressed
together, he stood, looking to the ground, when all at once the
Princess interfered.

"I will take any anxiety on your father's account from you, Wanda,"
said she. "I shall go with him."

Her listeners started in extreme surprise.

"What, Hedwiga?" asked the Count. "You think of going with me?"

"Into exile," concluded the Princess, with a steady voice. "It will be
no new thing to either of us, Bronislaus. We have tasted it before,
during long years. We will take the old fate on us again."

"Never," cried Waldemar, with kindling eyes. "I will never consent to
your leaving me, mother. Your place, in future, is here at Wilicza,
with your son."

"Who is busy imprinting on his land the mark of the German?"--the
Princess Baratowska's tone was almost severe in its earnestness. "No,
Waldemar, you underrate the Pole in me, if you think I could stay on in
Wilicza, in the Wilicza which is growing up under your rule. I have
given you a mother's love tardily but completely, and it will ever be
yours, though we part, though I go to a distance, and we only see each
other from time to time--but to stay here at your side, to look on day
by day while you overturn all that I have laboured to build up, to
give the lie to my whole past life by associating with your German
friends--on each occasion when our opposite opinions come into
collision to bow to your word of authority, that, my son, I cannot do,
that would be more than, strive as I might, I could accomplish. It
would rend asunder the newly formed ties between us, would call up the
old strife, the old bitterness again. So let me go, it will be best for
us all."

"I did not think any of the old bitterness would intrude upon this
hour," said Waldemar, with some reproach in his tone.

The Princess smiled sadly. "There is none in my heart against you, but
not a little, perhaps, against the Fate which has ordained our ruin.
Over the Morynski and Baratowski families the decree has gone forth.
With Leo one noble Polish house died out, which for centuries had shone
with lustre in the annals of our country. My brother is the last scion
of another. His name will soon be extinct, for Wanda is the last to
inherit it, and she will merge it in yours. Wanda is young, she loves
you--perhaps she may learn to forget, which to us would be impossible.
Life is before you, the future belongs to you--we have only the past."

"Hedwiga is right," spoke Count Morynski. "I cannot remain, and she
will not. The marriage with your father brought nothing but evil to
her, Waldemar, and it seems to me, as though no union between a Nordeck
and a Morynska could be productive of happiness. The disastrous cause
of discord, which proved so fatal to your parents, exists in your case
also. Wanda, too, is a child of our people. She cannot renounce her
race any more than you can yours. You are entering upon a hazardous
experiment in this marriage, but you have willed it, both of you--I
make no further opposition."

This was no very happy betrothal for the young pair. The mother's
suddenly announced departure, the father's resignation and ominous
warnings, cast a deep shade over the hour which generally fills two
youthful hearts with brightest sunshine. It really seemed as though
this passion, which had fought so hard a fight, had triumphed over so
many obstacles, were destined to know no joy.

"Come, Bronislaus," said the Princess, taking her brother's arm. "You
are wearied to death with the hasty ride and the agitation of the last
few days. You must rest till morning, if you are to find strength to
continue your journey. We will leave these two alone. They have hardly
spoken to each other yet, and they have so much to say!"

She left the room with the Count. Hardly had the door closed upon them
when the shadow vanished. With quick, impetuous tenderness Waldemar
threw his arms round his betrothed, and clasped her to his breast. He
had won her at last!


Fabian and his wife were still in the next room. Gretchen seemed much
put out, and cast many melancholy glances at the tea-table.

"How can people give way to their romantic feelings so as to forget all
the decent, orderly routine of life?" she observed. "The anxiety and
excitement are over now, and the joy of their first meeting too; they
might quietly sit down to table, but such an idea never occurs to one
of them. I could not persuade the Princess or Count Morynski to touch a
thing, but Countess Wanda must and shall have a cup of tea. I have just
made some fresh--she shall have it, whether she likes it or not. I will
just see whether she and Herr Nordeck are still in there in the salon.
You stay here, Emile."

Emile remained obediently in his place near the tea-urn, but the time
seemed rather long to him, for ten minutes, at least, elapsed, and his
wife did not return. The Professor began to feel uncomfortable; he felt
his presence to be quite superfluous, and yet he would so gladly have
made himself useful, like Gretchen, whose practical nature was never at
a loss; in order to be doing something, he took the ready filled cup of
tea, and carried it into the adjoining drawing-room. To his surprise,
he found it untenanted, except by his wife, who was standing before,
and very near to, the closed door of the Princess's study.

"Dear Gretchen," said Fabian, balancing the cup in his hand with
as much anxious care, as if it had contained the most precious
life-elixir. "Dear Gretchen, I have brought the tea. I was afraid it
might be getting cold, if this went on much longer."

The young lady had narrowly escaped being caught in a most suspicious
attitude, namely, that of bending down with her eye to the keyhole.
Luckily, she had had time to raise herself quickly as her husband came
in. She took hold of him, cup and all, and led him back into the outer
room.

"Never mind, Emile. The Countess won't want any tea, and it will go on
ever so much longer. But you need not make yourself unhappy about your
beloved Waldemar any more. Things are going very well with him in
there, very well indeed. I'll own I did him a wrong--he has a heart
after all. That cold, stiff Nordeck is really capable of going down on
his knees and uttering the most ardent words of love. I never could
have believed it!"

"But, how do you know all this, dear child?" asked the Professor, who
in his innocence and erudition had never had anything to do with
keyholes. "You were outside."

Gretchen blushed crimson, but she recovered herself quickly, and said
with much decision--

"You know nothing about it, Emile, and it is not necessary you should.
As the tea is here all ready, we had better drink it ourselves."




                              CHAPTER XVI.


Out at sea the mild spring night was yielding before the approach of
day. Faint stars still twinkled in the sky, but the distant horizon
gleamed with the first streaks of dawn, and the slumbering waves
murmured softly, as in a dream.

Over the waters, through the ever strengthening morning twilight, a
ship was speeding. On board her were Count Morynski, his daughter, and
Waldemar. They had left the port of S---- about midnight, but it had
taken them some hours to steam through the vast river-mouth, and they
were only now issuing forth into the open sea. Wanda had not found
courage to part from her father so immediately after their reunion; she
had insisted on going with him, at least so far as the port of
embarkation, and Waldemar had yielded to her earnest entreaties. There
could hardly be danger in the plan; indeed, the journey to S---- might
perhaps be performed more safely in the company of a lady. The Princess
Baratowska would remain at Rakowicz for the present. As her son had
rightly foreseen, the Count's escape was attributed to her sole agency.
She alone was suspected, and any possible investigation of the matter
would be directed against her and her place of residence. Wanda's
absence was scarcely remarked; besides which, it had been arranged that
she should return from Altenhof in the course of a few days under
Waldemar's escort.

Old Squire Witold's estate, now the property of his adopted son, lay
near the coast along which the outward-bound ship must pass, and the
plan decided on was that the young people should bear the fugitive
company so far on his way. Count Morynski intended to await in England
the arrival of the Princess, who would stay on at Rakowicz some weeks
longer to be present at the marriage of her son and niece, setting out
immediately after it to join her brother. On meeting in England, they
would concert together as to the choice of their future place of abode.

Gradually day had dawned. Its first chill rays of early light played on
the broad surface of the sea, but colourless as yet, and conveying no
warmth. Now, as the coast receded and the open sea lay before the
traveller, the parting could no longer be deferred. Yonder stretched
the shore which bounded the domain of Altenhof, and, in close proximity
to the vessel, now slackening her speed, fenced in by a wall of white
morning mist, lay the Beech Holm. The leave-taking on deck was short
and pathetic. Count Morynski suffered most from the keen pain of it.
Strive as he might to retain his composure, he broke down utterly as he
placed his daughter in the arms of her future husband. Waldemar saw
that the torture of this moment must not be prolonged. He quickly
lifted his betrothed into the boat lying off in readiness, and in a few
minutes it bore them over to the Beech Holm, while the ship was once
more set in motion. A white handkerchief fluttered from the deck, the
farewell signal was returned from the Holm, then the distance grew
greater and greater between the traveller and the dear ones left
behind. The ship steamed off at full speed towards the North.

Wanda sank down on one of the large fragments of stone strewn beneath
the beeches, and gave vent to an outburst of passionate grief.
Waldemar, standing by her side, was mastered by no emotion, but his
face was very grave, saddened by the pain of that parting hour.

"Wanda," he said, laying his hand on hers. "This separation is not to
be a lasting one. If your father may not again set foot on his native
soil, nothing will hinder us from going to him. In a year you shall see
him again--I promise you."

Wanda shook her head sadly. "If I may yet find him! He has suffered too
much and too bitterly ever to regain health and an interest in life. It
seems to me that I have felt his arms round me for the last time."

Nordeck was silent. The same apprehension had forced itself on his mind
in that hour of parting. Count Morynski might rally from the effects of
his wounds and long confinement, but the defeat of that cause, to which
he had dedicated his life, was a blow but too likely to prove mortal.
When, years before, he had gone out into banishment, he could oppose to
his fate the mental and physical strength of a man in his prime; but
now that strength was sapped and failing--who could tell how long the
last remnants of it might hold good!

"Your father will not be alone," returned Waldemar, at last. "My mother
is going to him, and I only now begin to see all that we owe her for
this resolution of hers. It takes a heavy care from both of us. You
know her love for her only brother; she will be the staff and support
he needs."

Wanda's gaze was still riveted on the ship, now a mere speck in the
far-off distance.

"And you are to lose the mother you have so lately found?" said she, in
a low voice.

His brow clouded over at the remembrance.

"You do not think that is a light matter to me? No; yet I fear she is
right. Our natures are too similar for one willingly to bend to the
other, and were we to live together, concessions must be made. Were I
of her people, or she of mine, there would be need of none; she would
take pride then in all that I undertook. My success would be hers--I
should be carrying out her wishes as well as my own--as it is, I should
find her will constantly opposed to mine. To clear a path for new
institutions at Wilicza, I must begin by breaking down those she has
set up. We can stretch out our hands to each other across the gap, and
feel at last that we are mother and son; we cannot walk on side by side
through life. She has seen this more clearly than I, and has chosen
what is best for us. The decision, to which she has come, will alone
insure our lasting reconciliation."

The young Countess raised her dark tearful eyes to his face. "Have you
forgotten my father's warning? The unhappy national feud, that cause of
dissension which has hitherto torn our family into two, exists between
us also. It made your parents miserable."

"Because they had no love for each other," replied Waldemar, "because
cold calculation on either side had bound them together by the closest
tie which can connect two human beings. How could peace come of such a
union? The old strife was sure to blaze out anew, more hotly than ever.
But we can bring other forces into the field. I have won my bride in
the teeth of this national hostility, and I shall be able to defend my
happiness from its influence. If our marriage is really a venture, it
is a venture we may fearlessly make."

The light morning clouds sailing over the heavens became more and more
lucent, and the East flushed radiant with the dawn. A rosy glow spread
over the whole horizon, and the waves shone as though edged with liquid
gold. Then came one bright sudden flash, the first herald of the rising
sun, and immediately following it, the great luminous planet rose from
the waves, mounting slowly higher and higher, until it orbed itself
above them, appearing in clear and perfect majesty. Rose-tinted rays
quivered in the chill, pure morning air, and the surface of the water,
a minute ago so dark and drear, gained a deep, wonderful blue. With the
sunrise light and life streamed forth over earth and sea.

The first beams fell on the Beech Holm, dispersing the remnants of
white mist which still hovered between the trees; they sank on to the
dew-covered grass, they fluttered off into the forest, until nothing
was left of them but a light vaporous gauze, thin as air. The wind
rustled among the crests of the mighty beeches, which gently bent
before it, murmuring softly to each other. On this occasion they
whispered no gloomy complaint of decay and death as on that memorable
day by the forest lake--memorable, for was it not there, mid the
autumnal woods, in the falling twilight, out of the bosom of the
shadowy mists, that the dream vision had arisen, faint picture of that
scene which now appeared in glowing reality, the sea-washed Beech Holm
of poetic story, lying bathed in the golden sunlight?

Waldemar and Wanda again stood on the spot where they had stood
together years before--he, the wild, impetuous boy who fancied he had
only to stretch forth his hand to take undisputed possession of that
which had aroused his first passion; she, the giddy, light-hearted
child who had played with that passion in her thoughtless vanity. At
that time they had neither of them known anything of life and its
tasks. Since then they had had experience of it in all its fearful
earnest, had been drawn into its bitterest conflicts. Every obstacle
that can divide two human beings had been raised between them, but the
old sea-legend had spoken truly. Since the hour in which the spell had
woven itself round their two youthful hearts, the charm had worked
continuously, had preserved its hold upon them, spite of estrangement
and separation, had drawn them irresistibly together while all around
them blazed the hot flame of strife and hatred, had brought them
triumphantly through all the array of hostile influences to this the
hour of fulfilment.

Waldemar had put his arm round his betrothed, and was looking
searchingly into her eyes.

"Do you think now that a Nordeck and a Morynska may be happy together?"
he asked. "We will dispel the shadow which has lain on their union
hitherto."

Wanda leaned her head against his shoulder. "You will have much to bear
with, and much to overcome. Your wife will not be able to renounce all
that has so long been dear and sacred to her. Do not sever me
altogether from my people, Waldemar. Part of my life is rooted there."

"Have I ever been hard to you?" Waldemar's voice was full of that
strange gentleness which but one human being on earth had had power to
win from that cold, inflexible man. "Those eyes could teach the wild,
headstrong boy docility--they will be able to hold the man in curb. I
know that the shadow will often fall between us, that it will cost you
many tears, and me many a struggle; but I know too that at any critical
moment my Wanda will stand where she stood once before, when danger was
threatening me, and where henceforth her place will be--at my, at her
husband's side."

The ship, which was bearing the fugitive away from his fatherland,
disappeared in the cloud-like distance. All around, the sapphire sea
rippled and murmured--the Beech Holm lay flooded in golden sunlight.
Once again the waves sang the old, old melody, the chant of billow and
breeze combined, while in the pauses came a faint, mysterious music
like the chiming of bells--Vineta's spirit-greeting from beneath the
waters.


