Читать книгу: «Fickle Fortune», страница 13

'Do you really long for it?' asked Hedwig, looking fixedly at him. 'Sometimes, do you know, I have fancied you rather dreaded that day.'

The scarlet flush which mounted to the young man's brow almost seemed to bear out her words; yet the passionate tenderness with which he folded his betrothed to his heart gave them contradiction.

'Dread? No, Hedwig! We love each other, do we not? And your love is given to me, to me personally, not to the Count Ettersberg, not to the heir of these estates? You had so many suitors to choose from, so many who could offer you wealth and fortune, and you chose me, because … because you liked me best, was it not so?'

'Good heavens, how can such things come into your mind?' cried Hedwig, half frightened, half offended. 'How can you imagine that I ever gave them a thought?'

'I do not, I do not,' said Edmund, drawing a deep breath. 'And therefore I hold fast to that which is mine, mine alone, and will maintain it in the face of all. In your love, at least, I may believe. That, at least, is no lie. If I were to be deceived here, if I must doubt and despair of you–then the sooner I make an end of it, the better.'

'Edmund, this wild talk of yours distracts me,' cried Hedwig, starting back, scared by his vehemence. 'You are ill, you must be ill, or you would not use such language.'

This anxious cry brought Edmund to his senses. He made a great effort to regain composure, and even succeeded in forcing a smile as he replied:

'Why, are you beginning that tale? A few minutes ago my mother was lecturing me, saying I was excited and overwrought. And in fact it is nothing more than that. I am nervous and unstrung, but the fit will pass. Everything comes to an end, you know, sooner or later. Do not be anxious, Hedwig. Now I must go and see if Everard has got all ready for my expected guests. I forgot to give him any special orders. Excuse me for ten minutes, will you? I shall be with you again immediately.'

He released the girl from his arms and left her, once more breaking off abruptly, fleeing, as it were, from further explanation or discussion. It was impossible to solve the enigma. The Countess and Edmund were alike impenetrable.

Hedwig returned to her former place, and sat, absorbed in troubled meditation, resting her head on her hand. Edmund was concealing something from her, yet his love for her had suffered no change or diminution. It needed not the Countess's words to assure her of this; her own feelings told her the fact far more convincingly. His affection seemed indeed to have gained in intensity. She was more to him now than in former days, when his mother stood so prominently in the foreground; but the girl involuntarily trembled at meeting an outburst of fervid passion there, where she had been wont to look only for gay and sportive tenderness. How strange, how fitted to inspire uneasiness had been Edmund's manner again to-day! Why did he so vehemently demand an assurance that her love was given to him, to him personally? And why would he 'make an end of it,' were he to be deceived in this belief?

Hedwig felt that she should have thrown herself on her lover's breast, and forced from him a frank and open confession.

Obstinately as he might withhold his confidence from her, he would surely have given way, if she had prayed him with all the eagerness and earnestness of heartfelt love–but this she could not bring herself to do. Something like a secret consciousness of guilt restrained her from using her full power. Yet she had valiantly fought against the dreams which constantly brought before her another figure, the figure of one who now was far away, and whom she would probably never see again.

Oswald von Ettersberg since his departure had been completely lost sight of. He might almost have vanished into space. The Countess never voluntarily alluded to her nephew, and to some inquiries of Rüstow's she had merely replied curtly and coldly that she believed he was well, and satisfied with his new mode of life, but that he rarely communicated with his relations. She evidently desired to avoid the subject, and it was accordingly not again broached. The fact that Edmund never mentioned the name of his cousin, from whom he had hitherto been inseparable, that any allusion to the absent one appeared unpalatable to him as to his mother, was just one of the many eccentricities which now marked his behaviour. They had probably had some fresh quarrel shortly before Oswald's departure, and it seemed that the rupture between the cousins and old allies was this time complete.

Weary of thinking, of pondering over mysteries she could not fathom, Hedwig sat leaning back in her chair. She heard the door of the anteroom open, heard the approach of footsteps, but, supposing that it was Edmund coming back, she did not alter her attitude, and it was only as the new-comer entered that she languidly turned her head in his direction.

Then suddenly an electric thrill shot through the girl's frame. Trembling, blushing to the temples, she sprang from her seat, her eyes fixed on the door before her. Was it alarm, or was it joy that seized upon her with such paralyzing might? She knew not–she rendered no account to herself; but the name which burst from her lips, and the tone in which it was uttered, betrayed all that she had long so sedulously hidden.

'Oswald!'

Yes, it was Oswald who stood on the threshold. He must have been prepared for the possibility of seeing her when he started on his journey to Ettersberg, but this sudden meeting was quite unlooked for. The flush which dyed his brow on beholding his cousin's promised wife was evidence enough of this.

For a moment he waited, irresolute, but when his name struck on his ear, pronounced in those accents, all hesitation was over. In an instant he was at her side.

'Hedwig! Have I startled you?'

The question was well warranted, for Hedwig's perturbation was still visible and extreme.

'Herr von Ettersberg! You appear so suddenly, so unexpectedly.'

'I could not send word of my coming. I am here on pressing business, which made it necessary for me to see Edmund at once.'

He spoke, almost without knowing what he said, gazing fixedly the while at the girl's face before him. The sight of her did away in a moment with the ramparts which for months he had laboriously been building up.

Hedwig moved as though to withdraw.

'I … I will let Edmund know.'

'He has been informed of my arrival. Do not fly from me in this way, Hedwig. Will you not grant me one minute?'

Hedwig paused. The sorrowful reproach in his tone chained her to the spot, but she did not dare to make reply.

'I do not come voluntarily or in my own interest,' pursued Oswald. 'Tomorrow I shall leave again; I could not possibly divine that you would be here at Ettersberg just at this time, or … or I would have spared us both this meeting.'

Us both! Through all his bitterness there gleamed a ray of satisfaction. That unguarded exclamation of hers had changed a dim half-knowledge into a certainty, and though he could fasten on it no single hope, this certainty had in an instant become to him the one all-precious thing in life, a possession he would have surrendered at no price.

During their farewell interview, the young man had valiantly maintained his self-control, but the joyful shock of this unexpected meeting threatened to unseal his lips. The long-hidden passion in his breast was fanned to a quick, sudden blaze. Hedwig read this in his eyes, and the imminent danger gave her back her self-command, which did not again desert her.

'We can, at all events, shorten this interview,' she said, speaking in a low, steady tone, and turned to go. But Oswald followed.

'Will you leave me suddenly in this way? May I not say a word to you–one word?'

'I fear we have already said too much. Let me go, Herr von Ettersberg. Let me go, I entreat of you.'

Oswald obeyed. He stepped back to let her pass. She was right, he felt, and it was well that she should be strong and prudent when his prudence was on the verge of failing him. He looked after her silently, with an expression of infinite sadness, but he would no further detain her.

Hardly had Hedwig disappeared in the direction of the Countess's apartments when Edmund came in from the other side. His cousin's arrival had been notified to him, but his face showed no joyful surprise. On the contrary, the young Count appeared disturbed, nay, agitated. As Oswald hastened towards him, and held out his hand with all the old friendly cordiality, he evaded taking it, and the welcome he expressed was strangely forced and formal.

'What a surprise, Oswald! I did not think you intended to pay Ettersberg a visit just now.'

'Am I unwelcome?' asked Oswald, astonished at and chilled by this unwonted reception, and his outstretched hand fell to his side as he spoke.

'No, certainly not!' cried Edmund hastily. 'Quite the contrary. I only meant that you might have sent me word previously.'

'It was I who had the right to expect a letter,' said Oswald, with some reproach in his tone. 'You only replied to my first by a few lines: of my second you took no notice at all. I could understand your silence as little as I now understand the manner of your welcome. Have you been ill, or has anything happened?'

The young Count laughed–the loud derisive laugh which in these days was so frequent with him.'

'What an idea! You see I am as well as I can be. It was only that I had no time for writing.'

'No time?' said Oswald, much hurt. 'Well, I have found more leisure for you, then, in spite of all the urgent claims my work makes upon me. I have come now solely and entirely in your interest, not to pay you a visit, but to guard and save you from certain loss. Have you cancelled the powers formerly conferred on your land-steward?'

'What powers?' asked Edmund, who was absent and uneasy.'

He persistently avoided meeting his cousin's eye.

'The authority to act in your name, with which Baron Heideck, as your guardian, thought fit to invest him, and by means of which the entire management of the Ettersberg affairs was left in his hands. Does he still hold the document which gave him this authority?'

'Probably. I have never asked him for it back.' Oswald frowned.

'How could you be so imprudent?' he said impatiently. 'How could you continue to place confidence in a man whom you know to be unreliable? In all probability you will find that he has grossly abused his trust. Are you aware that the third part of your forests is doomed–that the timber is to be cut down and sold?'

'Oh! Is that in contemplation?' Edmund replied, still absently. The news seemed to make little or no impression on him.

'Do reflect,' insisted Oswald. 'If you know nothing of this transaction, if it has been entered into without your consent, the intent at robbery is as clear as day. The purchase-money, which is fixed at an absurdly low figure, is to be paid in cash, and the steward, no doubt, hopes to pocket it, and to be clear of the place before the affair is found out. I heard of it accidentally. The would-be purchaser consulted my friend Braun on the subject, and I hurried over here at once, in the hope of saving you and Ettersberg from this tremendous injury.'

Edmund passed his hand across his brow, as though it required an effort on his part to follow the conversation.

'That was very kind of you! Did you really come expressly for that? Well, we can talk it over another time.'

This utter lack of interest still further increased Oswald's amazement, but what roused even greater anxiety in his mind was the strangely-fixed and half-distraught expression of the young Count's face. Evidently his thoughts were busy elsewhere.

'Edmund, have you not heard what I have been saying to you? This matter is of the first importance–it will not brook the slightest delay. You must at once rescind those powers, and you must make sure of the rascal to whom they were committed, or you will be compelled to recognise the bargain he has made. This bargain means ruin to your forests, and considerable, perhaps irreparable, damage to the entailed estates.'

'Ah, the entail,' repeated Edmund, who, of the whole exordium, seemed only to have caught this word. 'True, the estates must not be injured. I give this matter over into your hands, Oswald. You have taken it up–go through with it.'

'I? How can I give orders, make arrangements regarding your property, while you yourself are here present? I came merely to warn you, to disclose to you the intended fraud. It is for you to take action–for you, the master and owner of Ettersberg.'

A spasm passed across the young Count's face, telling of some racking pain, dissimulated by an effort, and his eyes fell before Oswald's astonished, questioning gaze. He pressed his lips together, and was silent.

'Well?' asked Oswald, after a pause. 'Will you send for the steward and speak to him?'

'If you think it advisable.'

'Of course I think it advisable. It must be done without delay.'

Edmund went up to the table, and was about to grasp the bell, when Oswald, who had followed him, suddenly laid his hand on his shoulder, and said, in an earnest, urgent tone:

'Edmund, what is your cause of complaint against me?'

'Against you? I have none. You must excuse me if I seem rather absent. I am beset by all sorts of worries just now–disagreeables regarding the management, with the people on the place. My head is full of it all. You see by this incident with the steward what unpleasant things are constantly turning up.'

'It is not that,' said Oswald decidedly. 'I feel that you have some grudge against me personally. See how hearty and affectionate you were towards me when we parted, and how differently you receive me now. What has come between us?'

He grasped the young Count's shoulder as he put the last question, and would have looked him scrutinizingly in the face, but Edmund tore himself free with some violence.

'Do not tease me with all these absurd fancies and imaginings,' he broke out hastily. 'Must I render you account of every word and every glance?'

Oswald receded a step, and gazed at his cousin in amazement. He was indeed more astonished than offended. This sudden outbreak, so entirely unprovoked, as it seemed to him, was absolutely inexplicable. At this moment the roll of approaching wheels and the barking of dogs were heard outside. Edmund drew a deep breath, as though he had been relieved of some unendurable pain.

'Ah, our guests are here! Forgive me, Oswald, if I leave you alone. I am expecting some gentlemen who are to join our shooting-party to-morrow. You will make one of us, will you not?'

'No,' said Oswald coldly. 'I did not come for my pleasure, and to-morrow afternoon I must leave you again.'

'So soon? I am sorry for that, but of course you know best how much time you have to spare. I will give orders for your room to be put in readiness for you.'

He had already reached the threshold.

'One thing more, Oswald. Take the steward to task for me, will you? I have no talent for that sort of thing, and no patience. I shall agree to anything you may decide. Your orders will be equivalent to mine. Goodbye for the present.'

The last words were spoken rapidly, with a feverish excitement of manner which contrasted strangely with his former listless indifference. Then he hurried away, as though the ground were scorching his feet. Oswald stood there alone, hardly knowing whether to be angry or alarmed at such a reception. What could it mean? There could be but one explanation. Edmund had entered the drawing-room as Hedwig quitted it. Possibly he might have approached some minutes before and have partly overheard the short but pregnant conversation that had taken place between the girl and himself. Although not a word had fallen which could be construed into an understanding, there had been enough to show how matters were between Oswald and his own promised bride–enough to kindle a blaze of jealousy in the young Count's breast. That would explain his shrinking from the hand Oswald extended to him, his indifference to the money-loss with which he was threatened, his vehement, excited manner. There could be no other reading of the problem.

'So it was that,' said Oswald to himself. 'He must have overheard something. Well then, he heard how innocent we both were with regard to the meeting, and how we parted. I know myself to be free from blame, and if we ever come to a discussion on the subject, I will meet him and speak out frankly.'

Outside, in the courtyard, loud talk could now be heard, and a lively interchange of greetings, Edmund's voice rising above all the others as he welcomed his guests with noisy hilarity.

Oswald glanced out of the window. The gentlemen who had just alighted were, one and all, old acquaintances of his, but he was not in the humour to make polite speeches to them, or to run the gauntlet of their questions. So he quickly left the drawing-room, and was on the way to his old dwelling in the side-wing before the strangers had set foot in the castle.

CHAPTER XIII

The weather on the following day proved more propitious than had been expected. Though it did not clear up brightly, there was a cessation of the snowfall and the mists had disappeared, so that the morning seemed to promise a somewhat overcast, but, on the whole, fine day, favourable to sport and sportsmen.

At a very early hour Oswald left his room and turned his steps towards the main building, where the Count's apartments were situated. None of the guests were visible as yet, but downstairs the servants were busy preparing for the departure of the gentlemen, who were to set out immediately after breakfast.

Strange to say, Oswald found his cousin's room locked. It had never been Edmund's habit to ensure solitude by any such precautions. Not until his cousin had knocked repeatedly did he open the door.

'Oh, it is you, Oswald? You are here very early.'

His tone said plainly enough that the surprise was no pleasant one. Notwithstanding this, Oswald walked in.

'You are dressed, I see,' he said; 'so I am not disturbing you with this morning visit.'

The young Count was, indeed, fully equipped for the day, but he looked pale and haggard, and his eyes shone with an unnatural light. The traces of a wakeful night were but too visible on his features. He had evidently found neither sleep nor rest since the preceding evening.

'You have altered your mind, I suppose, and have come to say you will make one of the party,' he said lightly, evading the keen survey of the other's eyes by turning away and busying himself at his writing-table.

'No,' replied Oswald. 'You know that I must start again this afternoon. You may not have returned when I leave, so I wished to say good-bye to you now.'

'Must it be said in private?'

'Yes; for there is something else of importance I would speak of. You used not of old to avoid me so persistently, Edmund. I tried in vain to get hold of you yesterday evening. You were so completely taken up with your guests, and you seemed so excited, I had to give up all hope of finding a hearing, or of discussing with you any matters of business.'

'Matters of business? Ah, you mean that affair of the steward. Have you been so good as to speak to him for me?'

'I was compelled to do so, seeing that, in spite of my remonstrances, you would not stir a step. It all turned out precisely as I feared. When the man discovered that I was acquainted with the whole transaction, he desisted from lying. I gave him the choice of leaving Ettersberg this very day, or of submitting to a thorough investigation before a court of law. He naturally preferred the first alternative. Here is the document which empowered him to act in your name. He handed it over to me, but you will do well to have it properly cancelled. The intending purchaser has had notice already. I took down his address, thinking it might prove useful, and I have telegraphed to him that the sale of timber will not take place, that all authority is withdrawn from your agent, who had treated without your knowledge or consent. So this time the loss has been averted.'

He made this statement in a quiet, business-like tone, laying no stress on his own services, or on the diligent zeal which had brought about this happy result.

Edmund must, however, have felt how much he owed to his cousin's wise and thoughtful action. Perhaps the sense of obligation weighed upon him, for his answer was very brief.

'I am really most grateful to you. I knew you would understand these things far better than I, and would act more energetically.'

'In this instance it was for you to act,' said Oswald reproachfully. 'I allowed the steward to believe that at present I alone had cognizance of the intended fraud, that I called him to account on my own responsibility, and that I should not make any communication to you until he had taken his departure to-day–otherwise he would have thought it extraordinary that you should hold aloof from an affair which, after all, concerns yourself alone.'

'As I said to you yesterday, I was not in a mood, a frame of mind–'

'That I could see, and I make every allowance for the frame of mind, knowing, as I do, its cause and origin.'

'Its cause and origin? What do you mean? What do you know?'

'The reason of your strange reception, of your almost hostile attitude towards myself. This alone it is which brings me here. All misunderstandings must be cleared up between us, Edmund. Why this silence and concealment? Between true friends such as we are, frankness is best.'

The young Count leaned heavily against the table near at hand. He made no reply, but stood speechless and pale as death, staring at his cousin, who continued calmly:

'You need not withhold any accusation you may have to make. I can face it, can meet it without flinching. I love Hedwig, and am not ashamed to own it to you, for I have honestly, loyally struggled against the passion. When I saw it was not to be overcome, I went. Not a word on the subject has passed between us. If yesterday I was so far carried away as to allude to the state of my feelings, it was the first, it will be the last time. The unexpected meeting for a moment robbed me of my self-control, but it was only for a moment. I was myself again directly. If this is guilt in your eyes, it is guilt I am not afraid to confess, for I feel that in all points I can justify my conduct.'

This open, manly avowal had a most unlooked-for effect. Edmund listened as in a dream. The horrible shock of surprise, which quite paralyzed him at first, gradually passed away, but he evidently did not yet grasp the full purport of the words addressed to him.

'You love Hedwig? You? No, it is impossible. I do not believe it.'

'Had you not found it out?' said Oswald, dismayed in his turn. 'Was it not a feeling of jealousy which stood between us and estranged you from me?'

Edmund did not heed the question. His glowing eyes rested with an expression of terrible, unutterable suspense on Oswald's face, as he panted forth, in breathless agitation:

'And Hedwig–does she return the feeling? Does she love you?'

'I have said that no word of explanation has passed between us.'

'Words are not needed. You know, must know, if she cares for you, or not. That is felt in every glance, in every pulse. I have felt, I have known that she did not give me her whole wealth of love, that something stood between us, dividing us. Were you that barrier? Speak; I will have certainty, be the cost to me what it may.'

Oswald cast down his eyes.

'Hedwig will hold her promise sacred, as I do,' he replied, in a low voice.

The answer was unequivocal, and to it there was no rejoinder. For the next few minutes a terrible silence reigned. No sound was heard but that of the young Count's short, quick breathing.

'So this drop is added,' he said at length. Oswald looked at him anxiously. He had been prepared for a stormy scene, for passionate reproach and fierce anger. This stony resignation, so utterly at variance with Edmund's character, roused in him amazement and alarm.

'We shall conquer and live it down,' he said, taking up the thread again. 'We have never either of us thought of any further possibility. Were Hedwig free, I could entertain no hopes. I have always felt a contempt for adventurers who owe all to their wives, having themselves nothing to offer in return. Such a position would weigh me to the ground. I could not accept it, even at the hands of the woman I love. And my career is only just beginning. For years I must go on working for myself alone, whereas you have it in your power to confer in marriage the most brilliant advantages.'

The words were spoken innocently enough. They were intended to soothe, but how contrary was the effect produced! Edmund bounded, as it were, beneath the lash. His whole manner, his voice even was changed, as he burst forth, with scathing bitterness, with fierce, scornful rage:

'You mean to envy me, perhaps, to envy me my brilliant lot in life! I am a favourite of Fortune, am I not? All the good things of this world fall to my share? You were mistaken in your prophecy, Oswald. Fortune is fickle, and we two have changed rôles. Hedwig's love, at least, I still believed to be mine; of that one possession I thought myself sure. That, too, has been taken from me, taken from me by you. Oh, the measure is full, full to overflowing!'

'Edmund, you are half distracted,' said Oswald remonstratingly. 'Try to regain composure. We will speak of this more quietly–'

'Leave me,' Edmund interrupted. 'I can hear nothing now, endure nothing more. Your presence is intolerable to me. Go!'

Oswald drew nearer, seeking to pacify him, but in vain. In a fury, which bordered on madness, the Count thrust him back.'

'I will be alone, I tell you. Am I not even master here in my own rooms? Must I insult you to drive you from me?'

'That will not be necessary,' said Oswald, now grievously offended, and as he spoke, he drew himself up. 'I was not prepared for such a reception of my frank and loyal statement, or I should have been silent. You will see later on what injustice you have done me, but the knowledge will probably come too late to save our friendship. Good-bye.'

He went, casting not another glance behind him. Then Edmund sank into a chair. The blow which had just fallen was perhaps not the heaviest that had struck him in these latter days. Most direful of all had been the shock which in a moment had destroyed the son's love for, and proud trust in, his mother–not the heaviest, perhaps, but the last; and the last felled him to the ground.

An hour later the whole company had gathered in the dining-room, where breakfast was laid. The gentlemen were all in high spirits, for the weather promised excellent sport.

The Countess did the honours of the house with her accustomed grace. Whatever cares might be gnawing at her heart, she was too thorough a woman of the world to betray any emotion in the presence of strangers. Hedwig also forced herself to appear gay.

The conversation was most animated, and Oswald's grave taciturnity and reserve were not specially remarked, as they were considered natural to and customary with him.

Count Ettersberg himself appeared late on the scene. He excused himself by saying that he had been delayed, giving some necessary orders in reference to the day's sport; and he endeavoured to make up for his tardy arrival by redoubled efforts to charm and amuse his guests.

Edmund no longer looked pale and haggard, as he had looked an hour before. On the contrary, a hectic flush glowed in his cheeks, and a current of fire seemed to speed through his veins, while he exhibited an exuberant gaiety which could only be the product of over-excitement. He at once took the lead in the conversation, and his brilliant talk soon carried all the others away with it. Jests, repartees, and sparkling anecdotes followed quickly one upon the other. He seemed bent on convincing everyone about him of his cheerfulness and excellent humour, and so far as his guests were concerned, he succeeded in his aim.

The elder men, one and all landowners of the neighbourhood, thought they had never known the young Count so agreeable as on this occasion: the younger, stimulated by the effervescence of his wit, became witty in their turn. So the time sped quickly by, until the master of the house gave the signal for a general rising.

Oswald still continued very silent, but he kept a constant, anxious watch on his cousin. After all that had taken place between them, it was no matter of surprise to him that Edmund should seem to shun him even more persistently than yesterday, should even avoid addressing him directly; but he was not to be deceived by the other's assumed flippancy. After the scene of that morning, desperation alone could have produced such feverish excitement. Now only, when the first stings of wounded pride had passed, did the young man reflect how horror-stricken, how half-distraught Edmund had appeared on hearing his confession. He had had no suspicion, it seemed. His unaccountable behaviour had not been actuated by, was not owing to jealousy. If not to jealousy, to what then?

The company had now risen and were preparing to depart. The sportsmen took their leave of the ladies of the house, and said good-bye to Oswald, who was also to be left behind. Herr von Ettersberg was generally condoled with for having to return to the city so speedily, and to lose his chance of a day's shooting, and a few more polite speeches of a like nature were exchanged in all haste.

Edmund parted from Hedwig with some merry words, still showing the extreme and rather reckless gaiety which he seemed unable to put from him that morning.

As he passed his cousin, he called to him, 'Adieu, Oswald,' but so briefly and hastily as to preclude any reply. He evidently wished to avoid any further contact with the man by whom he considered himself injured. He went up to the Countess, who was talking to one of the gentlemen.