The Alpine Fay

"No, never!" Benno said, sadly. "I am going to Neuenfeld, and I shall in all probability never see Alice again."

They were interrupted by the announcement that Herr Waltenberg wished to speak with the engineer-in-chief. Elmhorst instantly arose, and Reinsfeld prepared to leave. "Good-night, Wolf," he said, cordially extending his hand. "Nothing can sever our friendship; we must always be what we have always been to each other,–eh?"

Wolfgang warmly returned the pressure of the hand thus given: "Good-night, Benno. I shall see you to-morrow."

He went with him to the door of the room, just as Waltenberg made his appearance; a few words were exchanged among the young men, and then Reinsfeld departed, and the two were left alone.

Ernst seemed to have regained his self-control during his lonely ride of two hours; his manner, at least, was cold and collected, although there was still a gleam in his eyes that boded no good.

"I hope I do not interrupt you, Herr Elmhorst?" he said, slowly approaching the young engineer.

"No, Herr Waltenberg; I expected you," was the reply.

"So much the better; there is no need, then, of any preface to what I am come to say. No, thank you!" he interrupted himself, as Elmhorst offered him a chair. "Between us formal courtesy is superfluous. I need not tell you why I am here. Our interpretation of the scene of this afternoon differed from that of the strangers then present, and I have a few words to say to you with regard to it."

"I am quite at your service."

Ernst folded his arms, and there was a trace of contempt in his voice as he continued: "I am, as you know, betrothed to Baroness von Thurgau, and I am not inclined to allow in my betrothed so intense an interest in the peril of another man. But that is a matter between herself and myself. What I desire to know at present is how far you are implicated in this interest. Do you love Fräulein von Thurgau?"

The question sounded like a threat, but Wolfgang's answer came instantly and simply: "Yes."

A flash of deadly hatred shot from Ernst Waltenberg's eyes, and yet this confession told him nothing new. He knew from Erna herself that she had loved another, but he had fancied that he should have to seek that other in the grave, among the shades. Here he stood living before him, the man who could sacrifice an Erna to wretched mammon; a man incapable of a pure, exalted affection, and who yet held his head as haughtily erect as if there were no reason why he should bow before any on earth. This irritated Ernst still more.

"And this love does not probably date from to-day or from yesterday? As far as I know, you have frequented the house of the president for years,–before I returned from Europe, before Baroness von Thurgau was betrothed."

"I regret being obliged to refuse to give you any satisfaction on these points," Wolfgang replied, as frigidly as before. "I am quite ready to answer any question you have a right to put. I refuse to submit to a cross-examination."

"I can well believe it," Waltenberg declared, with a bitter laugh. "You would fare but ill in such an examination,–as the betrothed of Alice Nordheim."

Elmhorst bit his lip,–the shot found a joint in his armour, but he recovered himself in an instant:

"First of all, Herr Waltenberg, I must request you to change your tone, if this conversation is to be prolonged. I will tolerate no insults, least of all, as you well know, from yourself."

"I am not to blame if the truth insults you," Ernst retorted, arrogantly. "Contradict my words, and I will retract them. Until you do, you must allow me to entertain my own opinion with regard to a man who loves, or pretends to love, a woman while he woos and wins a wealthy heiress. You cannot possibly ask esteem for such a paltr–"

"Enough!" Wolfgang cut short his words. "No need of abuse to attain your end. I am perfectly aware of why you are here, and I will not balk you. But such words as you are using I forbid. I am in my own house."

He confronted his antagonist erect and very pale. Something in the man commanded respect, even as he thus repelled the imputation which his conduct had ostensibly deserved. Ernst could not but feel that his rival bore himself with dignity, hard as it was to admit it.

"You adopt a lofty tone," said Waltenberg, with a sneer. "'Tis a pity your betrothed is not here; in her presence there might not be so much conscious rectitude in your manner."

"I am no longer betrothed," Wolfgang coldly declared.

Waltenberg retreated a step in extreme amazement.

"What–what do you mean?"

"I simply inform you of a fact to show you that the cause for the imputation with which you would insult me exists no longer, for I was the one to withdraw from the engagement."

"When? For what reason?" The questions were put hurriedly.

"On these points I owe you no explanation."

"I am not so sure of that, for here, as it seems to me, you are reckoning upon my magnanimity. You are mistaken. I never will release Erna; and she herself, as I know, will never ask her release at my hands. She does not make a promise to-day to break it to-morrow, and she is far too proud to give herself to a man who preferred wealth to her love."

"Pray cease your attempts to use the old weapon: it has lost its point," Elmhorst said, sternly. "Born and bred in the very lap of luxury as you were, ignorant of all self-denial, what can you know of the struggles and efforts of one longing to rise, consumed by ambition to win recognition for himself, to attain a great goal? I yielded to temptation, yes; but I have delivered my soul now, and can bid defiance to your boasted virtue. You too would have succumbed if life had denied you fortune and happiness,–you first of all,–and it may be you would not have fought your way free as I have, for, by heaven! the struggle is no easy one."

There was such convincing truth in his words that Ernst was silent. He to whom luxury was a necessity of existence could hardly have withstood temptation; but because he could not help the conviction that this was so, did he all the more detest the man who had come off conqueror in the fiercest of all battles,–the conflict with self.

"And now go, and hold your betrothed to her promise," Wolfgang went on, still more bitterly. "She will not break it, nor will she forgive me for what has been. There you are right. I have paid for my wrong-doing with my happiness. Force Erna to bestow upon you her hand; her love you cannot gain, for that belongs to me,–to me alone!"

"Ah, you dare–!" Ernst began, furiously, but paused before the cold, proud triumph in the eyes that met his own.

"Well? upon what ground now would you quarrel with me? That I love your betrothed is hardly an insult; that I am beloved you cannot pardon. I never knew it myself before to-day."

Waltenberg looked as if he would fain have flown at the throat of the man who thus uttered what could not be gainsaid; in a voice half stifled by passion be rejoined, "Then you can easily conceive that I shall hardly consent to share the love of my betrothed with another,–with a living rival at least."

Elmhorst shrugged his shoulders: "Is this a challenge?"

"Yes, and the affair had best be concluded as soon as possible. I will send Herr Gronau to you to-morrow to make the necessary arrangements, and I hope you will agree that to-morrow shall decide–"

"Not at all," Elmhorst interrupted him. "I shall have no time to-morrow, nor the day after."

"No time for an affair of honour?"

"No, Herr Waltenberg. In fact, I have no great opinion of these affairs of honour which consist in trying to put an end as quickly as possible to a man whom one hates. But there are cases in which one must be false to his convictions rather than incur the imputation of cowardice. So I am ready. But we workingmen have an honour of our own apart from that cherished as such by the favoured idlers of society, and mine demands that I should not expose myself to the possibility of being shot before the task which I have undertaken to fulfil has been accomplished. In eight or ten days the Wolkenstein bridge will be finished,–I shall then have completed my task; I shall have seen my work accomplished. Then I shall be at your disposal, but not an hour sooner. Until then you will be obliged to curb your impatience."

There was an almost contemptuous deliberation in the manner in which all this was stated to the man to whom it was scarcely intelligible. Waltenberg had never worked, never devised anything that he loved and would fain see completed; he had never done aught save follow the impulse of the whim of the moment. Now this impulse incited him to the destruction of his enemy or to his own ruin,–he did not stop to ask which; but to be obliged to wait for days, to stay his thirst for revenge,–the thing seemed an impossibility.

"And if I do not accept this condition?" he asked, sharply.

"Then I do not accept your challenge. The choice is yours."

Ernst clinched his fist in suppressed fury; but he saw that he must submit: it was his antagonist's right to require this delay.

"So be it, then!" he said, controlling himself by an effort. "In from eight to ten days. I rely upon your word."

"You will find me ready."

A formal, hostile bow was given on both sides, and Ernst left the room, while Elmhorst slowly walked to the window.

Outside, the moon, visible now and then among the clouds, cast an uncertain light over the landscape. For a moment it emerged clearly, and in its rays was revealed the bridge, the bold structure which had promised its creator so proud a future. And out into the same light strode the man who had sworn his death,–whose hand was sure when a foe was to be removed from his path. Wolfgang made no effort at self-deception: he bade farewell to his dreams for the future, as he had already bidden farewell to his happiness.

CHAPTER XXII.

AN UNEXPECTED VISIT

Dr. Reinsfeld sat in his room, writing diligently. So much had to be arranged and prepared for his successor, who was to arrive in the course of the next week, and who was to buy the house and furniture. The young physician's belongings were not very valuable, nevertheless he looked about him upon his poor possessions with a sad, yearning expression. Here he had been so happy, and so miserable!

A carriage drove up and stopped before his door. Benno looked up from his writing to see who his visitor might be, and then hurried to the door, in surprise, as he recognized the graceful figure of Frau Gersdorf about to alight. This distinguished relative, whose acquaintance he had formerly dreaded to make, had come to be his cherished little friend, whose interest in his unhappy love was intense. He had been obliged to discourage this interest of hers, but he was nevertheless grateful for it.

He went out with a welcome upon his lips to open the carriage door, but started, dismayed, for beside his young cousin sat a shyly shrinking figure,–Alice Nordheim.

"Yes, I am not alone," said Molly, highly delighted by the effect of her surprise. "We have been out driving, and did not wish to pass through Oberstein without seeing you. Well, Benno, are you not glad we stopped?"

Reinsfeld stood dumfounded. Driving in this cold rainy weather? Why had Alice come? And why did she tremble so as he helped her out of the carriage, seeming afraid to look at him? He could not utter a word; but indeed there was no need that he should, for Frau Gersdorf gave no one any chance to speak. She chattered on until they were in Benno's study, and then she began afresh:

"And so here we are. You wanted to come, Alice, and now you look as if you would like to run away. Why? I may surely call upon my cousin if I please, and you are with me, chaperoned by a married woman, so your duenna can make no possible objection. And you need not be in the least embarrassed, children. I know everything,–I grasp the entire situation, and it is very natural that you should wish to talk to each other. So now begin!"

She seated herself in the arm-chair which the doctor had just left, and prepared with great solemnity to assist at the interview. But a long pause ensued,–neither Alice nor Benno spoke,–and, after some minutes of silence, Molly began to be tired.

"I dare say you would rather talk without listeners," she remarked. "Good! I will go into the next room, and see that no one interrupts you."

Without waiting for a reply, she suited the action to the word, and left the room for the one adjoining, by the closed door of which she placed herself as sentinel.

But Molly had forgotten the other door of the study, which led through a small vestibule out into the garden, and she was quite unconscious that through the garden Veit Gronau was just now approaching the house, leaving Said and Djelma to await him at the garden gate.

Ernst Waltenberg had not returned to Heilborn on the previous evening, although he had promised to meet his secretary there. Early this morning a messenger from him had brought Gronau the intelligence that he had taken up his abode for a few days in the little inn at Oberstein, and that the two servants were to be sent to him with all that was necessary for his comfort. This had been done, and Veit had accompanied them. Driving up the steep mountain-road had been very difficult, wherefore all three had preferred to walk the last part of the way, leaving the vehicle to bring the luggage.

The foot-path which thay pursued led directly past the doctor's garden. Gronau walked up the little enclosure and opened the familiar back-door. His last interview with Benno had been a stormy one,–he had bitterly reproached the young physician with his indifference,–and his kindly nature would not long allow him to cherish any unkind feeling. He came now partly to apologize, and partly in hope of finding the doctor more in sympathy with his wishes. As the Nordheim carriage was standing before the front entrance of the house, he had no suspicion of the visit which Benno was receiving, else he would have fled in dismay.

Meanwhile, Frau Gersdorf maintained her guard with unwearied, devotion,–a devotion all the more disinterested since the stout oaken door effectually deadened the voices of the pair she had left. Their conversation, moreover, was far from what she had hoped would ensue.

Benno, after waiting in vain for Alice to break the silence, said, gently,–

"And you really wished to come hither, Fräulein Nordheim,–really?"

"Yes, Herr Doctor," was the low, trembling reply.

Reinsfeld knew not what to think. Lately Alice's intercourse with him had been perfectly easy and familiar. True, since their last interview in the forest, her ease of manner had vanished, but that could not explain this alteration in her. She stood pale and trembling before him, seeming actually afraid of him, for she retreated timidly when he would have approached her.

"You are afraid–of me?" he asked, reproachfully.

She shook her head: "No, not of you, but of what I have to tell you. It is so terrible."

Reinsfeld was still puzzled for a moment, and then suddenly the truth flashed upon him.

"Good God! You do not know–?"

He paused, for, for the first time, Alice looked up at him with eyes filled with such misery, such despair, that all other reply was needless. He hastily went up to her and took her hand.

"How could it be? Who could have been so cruel, so dastardly, as to distress you with that?"

"No one!" the girl said, with an evident effort, "By chance–I overheard a conversation between my father and Herr Gronau–"

"You cannot believe I had any share in it!" Benno hastily interposed. "I did all that I could to restrain Gronau; I refused to give him my sanction."

"I know it,–and for my sake!"

"Yes, for your sake, Alice. What can you fear from me? There was no need that you should come hither to entreat my silence."

"I did not come for that," Alice said, softly. "I wanted to ask your pardon–your forgiveness for–"

Her voice was lost in a burst of sobs; suddenly she felt herself clasped in Benno's arms. She was no longer Wolfgang's betrothed; he was no traitor to his friend; he might for once clasp his love in his arms, while she wept convulsively upon his breast.

Just at this moment Veit Gronau opened the side-door, and paused in dismay upon the threshold. He would have been less amazed if the skies had fallen than he was by the sight that met his eyes. Unfortunately, he did not possess Frau Gersdorf's diplomatic talent for noiselessly disappearing and pretending not to have observed anything; on the contrary, his surprise expressed itself in a long-drawn "A–h!"

The lovers started in terror. Alice in great confusion extricated herself from Benno's embrace, and the doctor lost all his presence of mind, while the intruder maintained his stand upon the threshold, and in his dismay never thought of stirring. At last the young girl fled into the next room to Molly, while Benno, with a frown, approached his unbidden guest: "This is an unexpected visit, Herr Gronau, a surprise indeed."

His tone was unusually sharp, but Gronau did not seem to notice it. He entered the room, and, with an air of extreme satisfaction, said, "This is quite another affair,–quite another affair."

"What of it?" Benno exclaimed, impatiently; but Veit tapped him cordially on the shoulder:

"Why did you not tell me this? Now I understand why you would not accuse Nordheim. You were quite right, quite right."

"Nor will I suffer any one else to do so," Reinsfeld declared, his irritation only aggravated by Gronau's genial tone. "I deny any one's right to meddle in my affairs; understand me, Herr Gronau."

"I have no idea of doing anything of the kind," said Gronau, quietly. "'Tis well that I have said nothing to Herr Waltenberg as yet. Of course the matter must be kept quiet among ourselves. You have been far wiser than I, Herr Doctor. How could you bear my scolding so patiently? I never gave you credit for such cleverness."

"Can you suppose me capable of sordid calculation?" Benno exclaimed, angrily. "I love Alice Nordheim."

"So I saw just now," Veit observed, "And she seemed very willing. Bravo! Now we shall go to work with the Herr President very differently. We shall say not a word about the stolen invention, but shall simply ask for his daughter's hand, and his millions will naturally follow it. 'Tis a fact, Benno, that you have shown a vast amount of cleverness. Your arrangement of the matter would satisfy even your father in his grave."

"That is your view," Benno declared, sadly. "Alice's and mine is very different. What you saw was only a farewell forever."

At this intelligence, Veit looked as if he had suddenly received a box on the ear.

"Farewell? Forever? Doctor, I verily believe you are out of your senses."

The young physician was wont to be all patience and gentleness, but at this interference with his most sacred emotions he lost his temper so thoroughly that he tried to be rude.

"Herr Gronau, let me reiterate my request that you will no longer meddle in my affairs. Do you suppose that I can ever call by the name of father a man who so injured my father? You understand nothing of any refinement of sentiment."

"No, I suppose not; but all the more do I comprehend what is practical, and this matter is as simple as possible. You possess a means of forcing Nordheim to consent to your marriage with his daughter, whom you love. Use it and marry her. Anything else is nonsense, and that's an end of it!"

"My opinion precisely," said a voice from the doorway, and Frau Gersdorf, having heard the last words, advanced into the room and took part with aplomb in the conversation.

"Herr Gronau is perfectly right. The matter is as plain and simple as possible," she repeated. "All you have to do, Benno, is to marry Alice, and there's an end of it."

Poor Reinsfeld thus assailed on both sides might well tremble for his 'refinement of sentiment.' He made up his mind to a final effort, and declared,–

"But I will not. I am the one, and the only one, to decide here!"

"A pretty lover you are!" exclaimed Gronau raising his hands to heaven in despair.

Molly, however, took a much more practical view of the case, and attacked Benno's obstinacy from the other side.

"Benno!" she said, reproachfully, "there sits poor Alice in the next room crying her very heart out. Will you not try at least to comfort her?"

This was perfectly successful. Benno hesitated for a moment, but only for a moment, then he rushed into the next room.

"There! he will not come back for some time," said Molly, closing the door behind him. "Now we can take the affair in hand, Herr Gronau."

But this was too much for Veit Gronau's declared distrust of womankind. Charming as was this new ally, her very presence reminded him of how false to his avowed principles he was in thus standing godfather to a love-affair. He suddenly remembered his attendant spirits still waiting at the garden gate, and with a hurried and awkward apology he took his leave, while Frau Gersdorf, with much self-satisfaction, seated herself in the doctor's study to await the close of the interview in the next room, and to reflect upon the vicissitudes that beset the path in life of a self-constituted guardian angel.

CHAPTER XXIII.

A JEALOUS LOVER

For three days there had been raging in the Wolkenstein district a storm which even in this mountain-region was held to be unprecedented in violence. The keen blasts of November set in several weeks earlier this year and were unusual in their fury. In addition, the rain poured down day and night; in certain valleys there had been rain-spouts which had deluged the fields, and had so swollen streams and brooks that they had burst all bounds, overflowed their banks, and made travel impossible. Communication with Heilborn was interrupted, intercourse between neighbouring hamlets and villages was maintained with difficulty, and the danger increased from hour to hour.

In the Nordheim villa preparations had been made for a return to the capital, but any such intention had to be given up, since travel was not to be thought of in this weather. All regretted the impossibility, and longed to be gone, for the entire household was oppressed as by some gloomy spell.

Alice pleaded indisposition, and had not left her room for several days, availing herself of this pretext to avoid meeting her father, whom she had dreaded since their last interview; but the president's mind was filled with far other anxieties. He probably never noticed his child's avoidance of him, nor was he aware of the strained relations existing of late between Erna and her betrothed.

The good fortune which had befriended him hitherto during his life seemed all at once to be forsaking him; it was as if some hostile power were at work, frustrating all his efforts, confusing all his schemes, and confounding all his expectations.

The boldly-conceived plan, the success of which was to gain him millions, was shattered, and its ruin came from a quarter whence he had never looked for it. The man whom he thought indissolubly bound to himself and to his interests withdrew from his plans at the decisive moment, and made their execution impossible. Nordheim knew perfectly well that if the engineer-in-chief, his future son-in-law, refused to approve the estimates as they had been made out, it would be impossible to present them to the company. The scheme was naught since Elmhorst refused his aid, opposing a frigid refusal to all efforts to persuade him. There had been a brief, stern interview between the two men, and it had set the seal upon their estrangement.

Then Wolfgang had spent an hour with his betrothed. What had passed at this interview no one was told, not even the girl's father. Alice, with unwonted decision, refused to speak of it, but the parting had surely not been unkindly, for when Elmhorst left the house, not to enter it again, Alice had waved him a farewell from the window more cordial than any she had ever vouchsafed him while they were betrothed, and he had responded with equal cordiality.

Nordheim was not a man to bear with equanimity the ruin of schemes which he had spent years in developing, and to his vexation on that score was added annoyance at Gronau's threats, which he had at first underestimated. He regretted that he had not attempted at least to conciliate the former friend, whose restless energy he had been familiar with of old. It had been a mistake to make an enemy of him, a mistake which might have serious consequences.