The Alpine Fay

"Indeed?" The president laughed scornfully. "I am learning to know you to-day, Wolfgang, in an entirely new character,–that of an enthusiastic and self-sacrificing friend. I should hardly have thought it of you."

"I am at least wont to stand up for my friends, and not to leave them in the lurch," was the very decided reply.

"But I repeat that I do not choose to have this man in my house," Nordheim said, dictatorially. "I suppose I am master here."

"Certainly; but in my future house Benno will always be a welcome guest, and I shall explain this to him unreservedly, in case I should be obliged by your dismissal of him to discuss the matter with him, and to–excuse you."

The words left nothing to be desired in the way of emphasis. It was the first time that there had been a difference of opinion between the two men; hitherto their views and interests had been identical. Wolfgang; showed in this first encounter that he was no docile son-in-law, but could maintain his ground with entire resolution. He certainly would not yield, as the president could clearly see; and probably Nordheim had some reason for not pushing him to extremities, for he lowered his tone.

"The matter is not worth a dispute," he said, with a shrug. "What, in fact, is this Dr. Reinsfeld to me? I would rather not be reminded by the sight of him of a disagreeable circumstance,–nothing more. In spite of your enthusiastic eulogy, I take the liberty of finding him as insignificant as was the incident that caused me to break with his father. Let the matter drop, for all I care."

He could not have astounded Wolfgang more than by this unwonted acquiescence. This indifference was in direct contrast with his former feverish irritability. The young man was silent and appeared satisfied, but the ancient grudge had acquired a new significance in his eyes. He was now convinced that the cause of it had not been insignificant; a man like Nordheim would not have preserved for twenty years the memory of a mere bagatelle.

Alice here made her appearance, to the evident relief of her father, who made no reference to the physician's visit, but began to talk of other things, and Wolfgang also took pains to conceal his annoyance. Alice did not perceive anything amiss; she was on her way to the garden to look for Erna, and her father, as well as her betrothed, joined her.

The garden of the villa was scarcely in accord with its elevated situation, where the usual flowers and ornamental shrubs enjoyed but a short summer, and were buried beneath the snow during more than half the year. The beds that had been laid out on the former meadow were fresh and sunny, but the little pine forest adjoining the garden, and extending to the foot of the cliffs, offered a cool, shady retreat from the hot sun.

It formed a kind of natural park, to which the moss-grown rocks, detached from their mountain-home in some ancient avalanche, and lying scattered here and there, lent a romantic charm.

Upon a rustic seat at the base of one of these rocks sat the Baroness Thurgau, and before her stood Ernst Waltenberg, but not engaged in calm conversation; he had sprung up and planted himself before her as if to prevent her escape. He was greatly agitated. "No, no, Fräulein Thurgau, you must stay and hear me!" he exclaimed. "You have repeatedly escaped me of late when I would fain have uttered what has been upon my lips for months. Stay, I entreat! I can endure suspense no longer."

Erna could not but be conscious that he had a right to be heard. She made no further attempt to leave him, but the expression of her face betrayed her dread of the coming declaration. Neither by word nor by look did she give the slightest encouragement to the man who now continued, with ever-increasing ardour,–

"I might have ended this uncertainty long ago, but, for the first time in my life, I have been and am a very coward. You cannot dream, Erna, of the misery you have caused me by your reserve, and avoidance of me! When I would have spoken I seemed to read in your eyes a 'no,' and that I could not endure."

"Herr Waltenberg, listen to me," the girl said, gently.

"Herr Waltenberg!" he repeated, bitterly. "Have you no other name for me? Am I still such a stranger to you that you cannot, for once at least, let me hear you call me Ernst? Yon must have long known that I love you with all a man's passion,–that I sue for you as for the greatest of all blessings. There was a time when entire freedom was my highest ideal of happiness; when I shrank from the thought of any tie that could fetter me. All that is gone and forgotten. What is all the world to me–what is unfettered freedom–without you? On this broad earth I care for you, and for you only!"

He had taken her hand, and she did not withdraw it from his clasp, but it lay there cold and passive, and when she raised her eyes to his they were veiled with sadness.

"I know that you love me, Ernst," she said, slowly, "and I believe in the depth and sincerity of your affection, but I can give you no love in return."

He dropped her hand suddenly: "And why not?"

"A strange question to ask. Can love be forced?"

"Ah, yes. A man's boundless, passionate devotion must beget love in return–if there is no rival in the way."

Erna shivered, and the colour mounted slowly in her face, but she was silent. This change of colour did not escape Waltenberg, who was gazing at her with breathless eagerness. His dark face grew pale on a sudden, and there was something like a menace in the tone in which he said, "Erna, why have you avoided me hitherto? Why do you refuse to return my love? Tell me the truth at all hazards. Do you love another?"

A short pause ensued. Erna would fain have refused to reply. How could she confess to another that which she shrank from acknowledging even to herself? But a glance into the agitated face of the man before her decided her.

"I will be entirely frank with you," she said, firmly. "I have loved. It was a dream, followed by a bitter wakening."

"Then the man was unworthy of you?"

"He was unworthy of any pure and great affection, and when I learned this, I tore my love for him from my heart. I pray you, do not question me further. It is gone and buried."

"Ah, he is dead, then?"

There was a degree of savage triumph in the question, and still more cruel was the hatred that flashed in his eyes,–hatred for one whom he thought dead. Erna saw it, and for an instant a wave of terror overwhelmed her. Instinctively she bowed her head as before a threatened danger, and before she was conscious that by this gesture she confirmed him in his error the involuntary falsehood was told.

Ernst drew a deep breath, and the colour slowly returned to his cheek: "Well, then, it is with the dead that I must strive. I will not fear a phantom; it must yield when once I clasp you in my arms. Erna, come to me!"

She recoiled in dismay from the passion in his words: "What! you still persist? When I tell you that I have no love to bestow upon you, does not your pride stand you in stead?"

"My pride,–where has it gone?" he broke forth. "Do you suppose that I could have gone on wooing you patiently for months without one word of encouragement from you, had I been the same Waltenberg who thought he needed but to ask of fate to attain his desire? Now I have learned to beg. The sight of you threw about me a spell to escape from which I struggle in vain. Erna, if you desire it I will resign my wandering life, and if you should wish for home in those sunny lands which I so long to show you, I will return with you to the cold, gloomy north, and for your sake assume the fetters of existence here. You do not know what a change you have already wrought in me, how all-powerful is your influence over me. Ah, do not be thus cold and impassive as your Alpine Fay upon her icy throne! I must win you for my own although your kiss were as deadly as that of the phantom of your legend."

His words were prompted by passion, strong to sweep down all obstacles in its path; such tones are always intoxicating for a woman's ear, and here, moreover, they dropped like soothing balm upon a wound that was still bleeding. It had been so humiliating to the girl to know herself ignored, resigned, not for the sake of another,–Erna knew well that that other was as nought to the man whose ambition was his god, the idol to whom she had been sacrificed. And now she was beloved, idolized, encompassed by a passionate regard which knew no calculation and no bounds. She was desired for herself alone. It was a triumph for her pride. And she was assailed, too, by pity,–by the consciousness of power to bestow happiness. Everything urged her to utter the consent for which she was implored, and yet she was restrained by an invisible something, and at this decisive moment another face arose in her memory,–a face that had looked so pale in the moonlight as the white lips had faltered, 'And could you have loved a man who had risen thus?'

"Erna, ah, do not keep me upon the rack!" Waltenberg exclaimed, with feverish impatience. "See! I kneel to implore you!" And he threw himself upon his knees before her and pressed her hand to his lips.

As she turned away her eyes as if entreating help, she suddenly started, and in a hurried whisper exclaimed, "For heaven's sake, rise, Ernst! We are not alone."

He sprang to his feet, and, following the direction of her eyes, perceived the president with his daughter and her betrothed just emerging in the distance from among the trees.

They had all been witnesses of the scene for a few seconds, but Nordheim divined that the decisive word had not been spoken, and that his self-willed niece might thwart his plan at the last moment. He therefore made haste to render its fulfilment irrevocable, and, advancing quickly, exclaimed, with a laugh, "We ask a thousand pardons! Nothing was farther from our intention than to intrude, but, since we have done so, let me offer you my best wishes, my child, and, Waltenberg, I congratulate you from my heart! We are scarcely surprised, having seen for some time how matters stood with you, and upon my arrival I perceived a betrothal in the air. Come, Alice and Wolfgang, congratulate these lovers."

He bestowed a paternal embrace upon his niece, shook Waltenberg warmly by the hand, and so overwhelmed the pair with congratulations and good wishes that no denial on Erna's part was possible. She passively allowed it all,–allowed Alice to embrace her and Ernst to clasp her hand in his as his betrothed, only fully recovering her consciousness when Wolfgang approached her.

"Let me add my good wishes to the rest, Fräulein von Thurgau," he said. His voice was calm, too calm, and his immovable countenance betrayed no breath of the tempest raging within him. Only for one instant did his eye meet hers, and that instant told her that she was amply revenged upon the man who had sacrificed his love to ambition and the love of gold. Now that he saw her in the arms of another, he felt how pitiable had been his choice, felt that he had bartered away the happiness of his life.

CHAPTER XVI.

SUSPICIONS

"As I say, Wolf, I do not know what to think of it. I never applied for the position. I did not, in fact, know anything about it, and here it is offered to me,–to me in this secluded Oberstein at the other end of the kingdom. There, read for yourself."

As he spoke, Benno Reinsfeld handed his friend a letter which he had received the day before. They were in the doctor's study, and Elmhorst also seemed surprised as he read the letter through attentively.

"It certainly is an admirable position," he said. "Neuenfeld is one of our largest iron-works,–I know the place by name at least, and the working population form a colony there, while you can establish the pleasantest relations with the multitude of officials employed in the management of the factories. Why, your salary will amount to six times your present income. Of course you must accept it. You must not let your good fortune slip again."

"But that other time I took infinite trouble to obtain the position. I sent in a scientific treatise that got me the preference, and then I was dropped, just because I could not come up to time. I have no association with Neuenfeld,–I do not know a soul there,–and with such advantages to offer there must be at least a dozen applicants for the post. How does the management know of the existence of a Dr. Reinsfeld in Oberstein?"

Wolfgang looked down thoughtfully, then read over the letter again: "I think I can solve the riddle for you," he said at last. "The president has had a hand in it."

"The president? Impossible!"

"On the contrary, very probable. He is interested pecuniarily in the iron-works, and he put the present director there; his influence extends everywhere."

"But he certainly would not exert that influence in my behalf. You yourself saw how coldly he received me on the only occasion when I have had the honour of meeting him."

"Nor do I think that he has been induced to interfere thus for benevolence's sake, but– Benno, do you really know nothing of the cause of the breach between your father and Nordheim? Can you not remember some expression, some hint, that would give you a clue to it?"

Benno seemed to reflect, and then shook his head: "No, Wolf; no child heeds such things. I only know that afterwards, when I asked after 'Uncle Nordheim,' my father, with a severity very unlike himself, forbade my speaking of him. Soon afterwards my parents died, and in the hard struggle that ensued I had too much to do to allow of my reviving childish memories. But why do you ask?"

"Because I am now convinced that something very serious occurred then, the sting of which is still sharp after twenty years. It caused the only difference I have ever had with Herr Nordheim, who visits his anger upon you, who are entirely innocent of all offence."

"Possibly; but that would be all the more reason why he should not obtain for me a lucrative position."

"It is just what he would do, were there no other means of removing you from his vicinity, and I fear that this is the true state of the case. He even wished to put a stop to your professional visits to his daughter. I did not tell you of it, because I thought it might, with justice, offend you, and he apparently changed his mind; but I am quite sure that I see his hand in this offer to you, from an entirely unexpected quarter, of a position that will keep you confined to a spot quite as distant from here as from the capital."

"Why, that would be a positive plot," Reinsfeld interposed, incredulously. "Do you really suspect the president of it?"

"Yes," said Elmhorst, coldly. "But, however the case may stand, so advantageous a position is not likely to come in your way soon again: so accept it by all means."

"Even if it be offered to me from such motives?"

"They are only supposititious; and even were they actual, no one in Neuenfeld knows anything of the circumstances; there they merely accept the recommendation of an influential man. Perhaps he perceives the injustice of visiting an old grudge upon you and wishes to indemnify you, since your presence recalls disagreeable memories."

Wolfgang knew well that this could not be so; his talk with the president had convinced him that he could be actuated by no sentiments of justice or magnanimity, but the young engineer wished to make the way easy for his friend, with whose sensitive delicacy he was familiar. Under all circumstances it was a piece of good fortune for Reinsfeld to be removed from his present obscure position, no matter whose was the influence to which he owed the change.

"We will discuss it this evening when you come to me," Elmhorst continued, taking his hat from the table. "Now I must go; my conveyance is waiting outside; I am driving to the lower railway."

"Wolf," said Benno, with a searching, anxious glance at his friend's face, "did you sleep at all last night?"

"No; I had some work to do. That sometimes will happen."

"Sometimes! It has come to be the rule with you. I believe you hardly sleep at all."

"Not much, it is true, but there is no help for it. Every structure must be finished before the winter sets in. Of course that makes a deal of work, and as engineer-in-chief I must see to it all."

"You are overworking yourself perilously. Hardly any other man could do as you are doing, and you cannot go on thus for long. How often I have told you–"

"The same old story," Wolfgang interrupted him, impatiently. "Let me alone, Benno; there is no help for it."

The doctor had, unfortunately, learned from experience that all his admonitions on this point would avail nothing, and he shook his head anxiously as he escorted his friend to the carriage. He himself was unwearied in the performance of his duties, but he knew nothing of the feverish state of mind that seeks forgetfulness in labour at whatever cost.

In the hall they met Veit Gronau, who had come with Waltenberg from Heilborn, and had taken the opportunity to pay a visit to Oberstein. The gentlemen bade each other good-day, and then Elmhorst got into his carriage, while the two others returned to the study.

"The Herr Engineer-in-Chief was in a great hurry," said Gronau, settling himself in the leathern arm-chair, the leg of which had, fortunately, been mended. "He scarcely took time to speak to me, and he looks very little like a happy lover. He's always as pale and gloomy as the marble guest! And yet he surely has reason to be contented with his lot."

"Yes, I am anxious about Wolf," Benno declared. "He is not at all like himself, and I am afraid the post he so coveted will be his bane. Even his iron, constitution cannot stand the strain of feverish activity which fills his days and nights. He oversees the entire extent of railway, and he never gives himself an instant's rest, in spite of all I can say."

"Yes, he is everywhere except with his betrothed," Gronau remarked, drily. "The lady seems to be of a remarkably unexacting temperament, else she could hardly endure having her lover entirely given over to locomotives, and tunnels, and bridges, or to have him declare as soon as he appears that he has not a moment to stay. But she takes it all as quite a matter of course. 'Tis an odd household, that of the Nordheim villa. With two pair of lovers, one would suppose all would go as merrily as a marriage-bell, but instead of that they all seem rather uncomfortable, not excepting Herr Waltenberg. Said and Djelma are always complaining to me of his temper. I explained to them that it was all because he was thinking of marrying; that matrimony was sure to make mischief; but the rogues persist in thinking it very fine."

"Oh, you are a declared foe to matrimony, as we all know," said Reinsfeld, with a fleeting smile. "If Wolfgang is out of sorts,–and the responsibilities of his position may well make him so,–his betrothed is, in looks and temper, all that could be desired."

"Yes, she is the gayest of all," Gronau assented. "That cure of yours is almost a miracle, Herr Doctor. What a poor, pining little plant she was, and now she is as fresh and blooming as a rose! Baroness Thurgau has grown grave and silent; and as for the two men,–one of them is always at the boiling-point, and is as jealous as a Turk, while the other is a perfect icicle, and they look at each other as if they would like to fly at each other's throats. What affectionate relatives they will be!"

Benno suppressed a sigh; the mute hostility between Wolfgang and Waltenberg, which was barely concealed beneath the forms of conventional courtesy, had not escaped him, but he said nothing.

"I am really sorry for Herr Waltenberg," Veit began again. "He cannot live without a sight of his betrothed every twenty-four hours, and he drives over from Heilborn daily. She, on the contrary, seems to have taken the famous mountain divinity for her model: she sits enthroned like the Alpine Sprite, and allows herself to be worshipped, while she remains entirely unmoved. Absolutely, doctor, you are the only sensible being among them all. You have no thoughts of matrimony,–hold fast to that!"

"I certainly am not thinking of it, but of something else, which will be scarcely less of a surprise to you,–of going away. Very unexpectedly a lucrative position has been offered me."

"Bravo! Accept it at once!"

"I certainly must."

Gronau burst into a laugh: "With what a long face you say that! I verily believe it goes to your heart to leave these honest Obersteiners who have been wearing you out for five years, to requite you with only a 'God reward you!' Just like my dear old Benno! He never would have died a poor man if he had understood the world and human nature. There he sat for years bothering over an idea which ought to have made his fortune, but he never knew how to push his claims, and timid requests and modest applications do no good with great capitalists and lords of finance. Finally others got before him with his invention, which was in the air, as it were, when they began to build mountain-railways, but nevertheless he was the first to devise the system of mountain-locomotives; all the later inventions are based upon his principle."

"My father?" Benno asked, with a puzzled air. "You are mistaken; it is the Nordheim system upon which the locomotives of to-day are constructed."

"I beg pardon: 'tis the Reinsfeld method," Gronau maintained.

"You are mistaken, I assure you. Wolf told me himself that his future father-in-law laid the foundation of his fortunes by the sale of his method of constructing mountain-locomotives. It was purchased and used by the first mountain-railways. Afterwards, of course, all kinds of improvements were added, but the inventor made a goodly profit; they paid him a very large price for the patent."

"Paid whom? Nordheim?" Veit shouted.

"The president,–certainly."

"And the engineer-in-chief told you this?"

"He did; we were talking of it a little while ago. Moreover, the thing is well known; any engineer can tell you so."

Gronau suddenly sprang up and approached the young physician. "Doctor," he said, slowly and emphatically, "this is either a wretched mistake or a scoundrelly trick!"

"Scoundrelly trick?" Benno repeated, startled. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, or rather I know, that this invention was your father's, and Nordheim knows it as well as I do. If he has given it out for his own–"

"In heaven's name, you would not call–"

"The highly-respected president a scoundrel? Well, that remains to be seen. It was, of course, possible for a stranger to have hit upon the same invention,–every engineer was occupied with the problem at the time,–but Nordheim had his friend's completed plan in his possession, studied it thoroughly, praised and admired it; there is no possibility of his having happened upon the idea for himself. We must sift the matter. Consider, Benno, do you really know nothing of the cause of the estrangement of which you have told me?"

"Nothing at all. I have just told Wolfgang so; he asked me the same question."

"The engineer-in-chief? What made him do that?"

"He thought he saw the president's hand in the offer that has just been made me, and he surmised–but no, no! Not a word more of such a shameful suspicion. It is impossible–"

"Much seems impossible to you, doctor; you have preserved the heart of a child," Veit said, gravely. "But when a man has seen as much of men as I have, he comes to disbelieve in such impossibilities. You are sure that Nordheim took out a patent for the mountain-locomotive?"

"Certainly; of that fact I am sure."

"Then he is a thief!" Gronau exclaimed, in a burst of indignation,–"a trebly disgraced thief, for he robbed his friend!"

"Hush, hush!" Benno interposed, but fruitlessly: Veit went on to prove his accusation.

"Tell me why your father, who was loyalty itself to his friends, should have broken with the one who was nearest to him? Why did Nordheim, if he were possessed of so inventive a genius, never achieve more than one invention? and why did he entirely abandon engineering shortly afterwards? Can you answer these questions?"

Reinsfeld was silent; under other circumstances he would have rejected all idea of such a suspicion, but the tone of conviction in which the terrible accusation was made, his conversation with Wolfgang, the mystery of the quarrel which had left so bitter a sting behind it that his gentle, amiable father had forbidden the mention of the name of a friend once so dear to him,–all this rushed upon his mind, almost paralyzing his power of thought.