The Alpine Fay

The little Baroness was thunderstruck at this declaration, this utter ruin of all her air-built castles. Instead of the romantic flight and secret marriage of which she had dreamed, here was her lover counselling patience and prudence; instead of bearing her off in his arms, he talked as if he were ready to institute legal proceedings for her possession. It was altogether too much, and she burst out angrily, "You had better declare at once that you do not care for me, after all; that you have not the courage to win me. You talked very differently before we were betrothed. But I give you back your troth; I will part from you forever; I–" Here she began to sob. "I will marry some man with no end of ancestors whom my granduncle approves of, but I shall die of grief, and before the year is out I shall be in my grave."

"Molly!"

"Let go my hand!" But he held it fast.

"Molly, look at me! Do you seriously doubt my love?"

This was the tender tone which Molly remembered only too well,–the tone in which the words had been spoken that evening in the fragrant, dim conservatory, to which she had listened with a throbbing heart and glowing cheeks. She stopped sobbing and looked up through her tears at her lover as he bent above her.

"Darling Molly, have you no confidence in me? You have given yourself to me, and I shall keep you for my own in spite of all opposition. Be sure I shall not let my happiness be snatched from me, although some time may pass before I can carry home my little wife."

It sounded so fervent, so faithful, that Molly's tears ceased to flow; her head leaned gently on her lover's shoulder, and a smile played about her lips, as she asked, half archly, half distrustfully, "But, Albert, we surely shall not have to wait until you are as old as my granduncle?"

"No, not nearly so long, my darling," Albert replied, kissing away a tear from the long lashes, "for then, wayward child that you are, ready to fly off if I do not obey your will on the instant, you would have nothing to say to me."

"Oh, yes, I should, however old you were!" exclaimed Molly. "I love you so dearly, Albert!"

Again the voices sank to whispers, and the close of the conversation was inaudible. In about five minutes the lovers advanced again into the drawing-room, just in time to meet the Herr Superintendent Elmhorst, who, as the guest of the house, entered unannounced.

Wolfgang had gained much in personal appearance during the last three years; his features had grown more decided and manly, his bearing was prouder and more resolute. The young man who when we saw him last had but just placed his foot on the first round of the ladder, which he was determined to ascend, had now learned to mount and to command, but in spite of the consciousness of power, which was revealed in his entire air, there was nothing the least offensive in his demeanour; he seemed to be one whose superiority of nature had involuntarily asserted itself.

He had brought with him a bunch of lovely flowers, which he presented with a few courteous words to the young mistress of the house. There was no need of an introduction to Gersdorf, who had often seen him, and Molly had made his acquaintance at Heilborn, where she had passed the preceding summer. There was some general conversation, but Gersdorf took his leave shortly, and ten minutes afterwards Molly too departed. She would have been glad to stay, to pour out her heart to Alice, but this Herr Elmhorst did not seem at all inclined to go; indeed, in spite of all his courtesy the little Baroness could not help feeling that he considered her presence here superfluous; she took her leave, but said to herself as she passed down the staircase, "There's something going on there."

She was perhaps right, but the 'something' did not make very rapid progress. Alice smelled at her bouquet of camellias and violets, but looked very listless the while. The wealthy heiress, who had always been the object of devoted attention on all sides, had been loaded with flowers, and took no special pleasure in them. Wolfgang sat opposite her and entertained her after his usual interesting fashion; he talked of the new villa which Nordheim had had built in the mountains and which the family were to occupy for the first time the coming summer.

"The interior arrangements will all be complete before you arrive," he said. "The house itself was finished in the autumn, and the vicinity of the line of railway made it possible for me to superintend everything personally. You will soon feel at home among the mountains, Fräulein Nordheim."

"I know them already," said Alice, still trifling with her flowers. "We go to Heilborn regularly every summer."

"Merely a summer promenade, with the mountains for a background," Elmhorst said. "Those are not the mountains which you will learn to know in your new home; the situation is magnificent, and I flatter myself that you will be pleased with the home itself. It is indeed only a simple mountain-villa, but as such I was expressly ordered to construct it."

"Papa says it is a little masterpiece of architecture," Alice remarked, quietly.

Wolfgang smiled and, as if accidentally, moved his chair a little nearer: "I should be very glad to acquit myself well as an architect. It is not exactly my métier, but you were to occupy the villa, Fräulein Alice, and I could not leave it to other hands. I obtained permission from the president to build the little mountain-home, which he tells me he intends shall be your special property."

The significance of his words was sufficiently plain, as was also his intimation of her father's approval, but the young lady neither blushed nor seemed confused; she merely said, with her usual indifferent lassitude,–

"Yes, papa means the villa shall be a present to me; therefore he did not wish me to see it until it was entirely finished. It was very kind of you, Herr Elmhorst, to undertake its construction."

"Pray do not praise me," Wolfgang hastily interposed. "On the contrary, it was rank selfishness that caused me to thrust myself forward in the matter. Every architect asks to be paid, and the recompense for which I sue may well seem to you presumptuous. Nevertheless may I speak–may I ask of you what it has long been in my heart to entreat?"

Alice slowly raised her large brown eyes to his with an inquiring expression that was almost melancholy and that seemed fain to read the truth in the young man's resolute face. She read there eager expectation, but nothing more, and the questioning eyes were again veiled beneath their long lashes. She made no reply.

Wolfgang seemed to consider her silence as an encouragement; he arose and approached her chair, as he went on: "My request is a bold one, I know it, but 'Fortune favours the bold.' So I told the Herr President when I first besought of him the honour of an introduction to you. It has always been my motto, and I cling to it to-day. Will you listen to me, Alice?"

She slightly inclined her head, and made no resistance when he took her hand and carried it to his lips. He went on, making a formal proposal for her hand in well-chosen, courteous terms, his melodious voice adding greatly to the eloquence of his words. All that was lacking was ardour; this was a suit for her hand, not a declaration of love.

Alice listened mutely in no surprise; it had long been an open secret to her that Elmhorst was her suitor, and she knew, too, that her father, discouraging as he had shown himself hitherto to the advances of other men, favoured Elmhorst's suit. He permitted the young man a freedom of intercourse in his house accorded to no other, and he had frequently expressly declared in his daughter's presence that Wolfgang Elmhorst had a brilliant career before him, worth in his eyes incalculably more than the scutcheons of men of rank, who were fain to rehabilitate the faded splendour of their names with a wife's money. Alice herself was too docile to have any will in the matter; it had been impressed upon her from earliest childhood that a well-bred young lady should marry in accordance with her parents' wishes, and she might have found nothing wanting in this extremely correct proposal had not Molly hit upon the idea of making her the guardian angel of a love-affair.

That scene in the window-recess had been so very different; those whispered tones, caressing, cajoling the wayward girl, whose whole heart seemed, nevertheless, devoted to the grave man so much her senior! With what tenderness he had treated her! This suitor respectfully requested the hand of the wealthy heiress,–her hand: there had been no mention whatever made of her heart.

Wolfgang finished and waited for a reply, then stooped and, looking in her face, said, reproachfully, "Alice, have you nothing to say to me?"

Alice saw clearly that something must be said, but she was unaccustomed to decide for herself, and she made answer, as was befitting a pupil of Frau von Lasberg's,–

"I must first speak with papa; his wishes–"

"I have just left him," Elmhorst interposed, "and I come with his permission and entire approval. May I tell him that my suit has found favour in your eyes? May I present my betrothed to him?"

Alice looked up with the same anxious inquiry in her eyes as before, and replied, softly, "You must have great consideration for me. I have been so ill and wretched all through my childhood that I am still oppressed with a sense of my weakness. You will suffer from it, and I am afraid–"

She broke off, but there was a childlike pathos in her tone, in the entreaty for forbearance from the young heiress, who, with her hand, bestowed a princely fortune. Wolfgang, perhaps, felt this, for for the first time there was something like ardour in his, manner as he declared,–

"Do not speak thus, Alice! I know that yours is a delicate temperament needing to be guarded and protected, and I will shield you from every rude contact in life. Trust me, confide your future to me, and I promise you by my–" "love" he was going to say, but his lips refused to utter the falsehood. The man was proud, he might coolly calculate, but he could not feign, and he completed his sentence more slowly,–"by my honour you never shall repent it!"

The words sounded resolute and manly, and he was in earnest. Alice felt this; she laid her hand willingly in his, and submitted to be clasped in his arms. Her suitor's lips touched her own, he expressed his gratitude, his joy, called her his beloved; in short, they were duly betrothed. A trifle only was lacking,–the exultant confession made just before by little Molly amid tears and laughter, 'I love you so dearly, so very dearly!'

CHAPTER VI.

AT PRESIDENT NORDHEIM'S

The reception-rooms of the Nordheim mansion were brilliantly lighted for the celebration not only of the birthday of the daughter of the house, but also of her betrothal. It was a surprising piece of news for society, which, in spite of all reports and gossip, had never seriously believed in the possibility of an alliance so unheard-of. It was incredible that a man, notoriously one of the wealthiest in the country, should bestow his only child upon a young engineer without rank, of unpretending origin, and possessing nothing save distinguished ability, which, to be sure, was warrant for his future.

That it was scarcely an affair of the heart every one knew; Alice had the reputation of great coldness of nature; she was probably incapable of very deep sentiment. Nevertheless she was a most enviable prize, and the announcement of her betrothal caused many a bitter disappointment in aristocratic circles where the heiress had been coveted. This Nordheim, it was clear, did not understand how to prize the privileges which his wealth bestowed upon him. With it he might have purchased a coronet for his daughter, instead of which he had chosen a son-in-law from among the officials of his railway. There was much indignation expressed, nevertheless every one who was invited came to this entertainment. People were curious to see the lucky man who had distanced all titled competitors, and whom fate had so suddenly placed on life's pinnacle, in that he had been chosen as the future lord of millions.

It was just before the beginning of the entertainment when the president with Elmhorst entered the first of the large reception-rooms. He was apparently in the best of humours and upon excellent terms with his future son-in-law.

"You have your first introduction to the society of the capital this evening, Wolfgang," said he. "In your brief visits you have seen only our family. It is time for you to establish relations here, since it will be your future place of residence. Alice is accustomed to the society life of a great city, and you can have no objection to it."

"Of course not, sir," Wolfgang replied. "I like to be at the centre of life and activity, but hitherto it has been incompatible with the duties of my profession. That it will not be so in the future I see from your example. You conduct from here all your various undertakings."

"This activity, however, is beginning to oppress me," said Nordheim. "I have latterly felt the need of a support, and I depend upon your partially relieving me. For the present you are indispensable in the completion of the railway line; the engineer-in-chief, in his present state of feeble health, is the head of the work only in name."

"Yes, it is in fact entirely in my hands, and if he retires,–I know he is thinking seriously of doing so,–I have your promise, sir, that I shall succeed him?"

"Assuredly, and this time I am not afraid of meeting with any opposition. It is, to be sure, the first time that so young a man has been placed at the head of such an undertaking, but you have shown your ability in the Wolkenstein bridge, and the position can scarcely be refused to my future son-in-law."

"In admitting me to your family, Herr Nordheim, you give me much.–I know it," said Elmhorst, gravely; "in return I can give you only a son."

The president's eyes rested thoughtfully upon the face of the speaker, and with an access of warmth extremely rare in the man of business, he replied, "I had an only son, in whom all my hopes were centred; he died in early childhood, and I have often reflected bitterly that some spendthrift idler would probably scatter abroad what I had taken such pains to accumulate. I think better of you; you will continue and preserve what I have begun, complete what I leave unfinished. I am glad to make you my intellectual as well as my material heir."

"I will not disappoint you," Wolfgang said, pressing the hand extended to him.

Here were two kindred natures, but surely the conversation was a strange one for the evening of a betrothal and while awaiting a promised bride. Both men had spoken of their schemes and undertakings; Alice had not been mentioned. The father had demanded of his future son-in-law much, but there had been no allusion to his daughter's happiness; and the lover, who seemed entirely sensible of the advantages of the family connection in prospect, never mentioned the name of his betrothed. They talked of construction and bridges, of the engineer-in-chief and the railway company, as coolly and in as business-like a fashion as if the matter in question were a partnership to be formed between them; and in fact it was nothing else,–either could easily have foregone the additional relationship. They were interrupted, however: a servant entered to ask for orders from the president with relation to the arrangement of the table, and Nordheim thought best to betake himself to the dining-hall to decide the matter. It was still too early for the arrival of the guests, and the ladies of the house had not yet made their appearance. The servants were all at their posts, and for the moment Wolfgang was left alone in the reception-rooms, which occupied the entire upper story of the mansion.

From the large apartment where he was, with its rich crimson rugs and velvet hangings, and its profusion of gilding, he could look through the entire suite of rooms, the splendour of which was most striking in their present deserted, empty condition. Everywhere there was a lavish wealth of costly objects, everywhere pictures, statues, and other works of art, each one worth a small fortune, and the long suite ended, as in some fairy realm, in a dimly-lit conservatory filled with exotic plants of rare magnificence. In an hour these brilliant, fragrant apartments would be crowded with the most distinguished society of the capital, all ready to accept the hospitality of the railway king.

Wolfgang stood still and looked slowly about him. It was indeed a bewildering sensation, that of knowing himself a son of this house, the future heir of all this magnificence. No one could blame the young man if at the thought he stood proudly erect, while his eyes gleamed exultantly. He had kept the vow made to himself,–he had executed the bold scheme which he had once confided to his friend,–he had dared the flight and had reached the summit. At an age when others are beginning to shape their future he had clutched success in a firm grasp. He was now standing upon the height of which he had dreamed, and the world lay fair indeed at his feet.

The drawing-room door opened; Elmhorst turned and advanced a few steps towards it, then paused suddenly, for instead of his expected betrothed Erna von Thurgau entered. She was much changed since she had been met by the strayed young superintendent among the cliffs of the Wolkenstein. The wayward child who had grown up free and untrammelled among her mountains had not without result passed three years in her uncle's luxurious home, under the training of Frau von Lasberg. The little Alpine rose had been transformed to a young lady, who with perfect grace but also with entire formality returned Wolfgang's salutation. This was a beautiful woman, a gloriously beautiful woman.

Her childish features had become perfectly regular, and although the rich bloom of health still coloured her cheek, her face expressed a degree of cool gravity unknown to the joyous daughter of the Freiherr von Thurgau. Her eyes no longer laughed as of old; there lay hidden in their depths a mystery akin to that of the mountain-lakes of her home, whose colour they had borrowed,–a mystery as powerfully attractive as that of the lakes themselves. She looked singularly lovely as she stood in the full light of the chandelier, dressed in pure mist-like white, her only ornaments single water-lilies scattered here and there among its whiteness. Her hair no longer fell in masses about her shoulders, but fashion permitted its full luxuriance to be appreciated, and pale lily-buds gleamed amid its waves.

"Alice and Frau von Lasberg will be here presently," she said, as she entered. "I thought my uncle was here."

"He has gone for a moment to the dining-hall," Elmhorst replied, after a salutation quite as formal as her own.

For an instant Erna seemed about to follow her uncle, but, apparently recollecting that this might be discourteous towards a future relative, she paused and let her gaze wander through the long suite of rooms.

"I think you see these rooms fully lighted to-night for the first time, Herr Elmhorst? They are very fine, are they not?"

"Very fine; and upon one coming, as I do, from the winter solitude of the mountains, they produce a dazzling impression."

"They dazzled me too when I first came here," the young lady said, indifferently; "but one easily becomes accustomed to such surroundings, as you will find by experience when you take up your residence here. It is settled that you are to be married in a year, is it not?"

"It is,–next spring."

"Rather a long time to wait. Have you really consented to such a period of probation?"

The lover seemed, oddly enough, to be rather averse to this allusion to his marriage. He examined with apparent interest a huge porcelain vase which stood near him, and replied, evidently desirous of changing the subject, "I cannot but consent, since for the present I am master neither of my time nor of my movements. The first thing to be attended to is the completion of the railway, of the construction of which I am superintendent."

"Are you, then, so fettered?" Erna asked, with gentle irony. "I should have thought you would find it easy to liberate yourself?"

"Liberate myself,–from what?"

"From a profession which you must certainly resign in the future."

"Do you consider that as a matter of course, Fräulein von Thurgau?" Wolfgang asked, nettled by her tone. "I cannot see what should induce such a course on my part."

"Why, your future position as the husband of Alice Nordheim."

The young engineer flushed crimson; he glanced angrily at the girl who ventured to remind him that he was marrying money. She was smiling, and her remark sounded like a jest, but her eyes spoke a different language, the language of contempt, which he understood but too well. He was not a man, however, to rest quietly under the scorn which pursues a fortune-hunter; he too smiled, and rejoined, with cool courtesy, "Pardon me, Fräulein von Thurgau, you are mistaken. My profession, my work, are necessities of existence for me. I was not made for an idle, inactive enjoyment of life. This seems incomprehensible to you–"

"Not at all," Erna interposed. "I perfectly understand how a true man must depend solely upon his own exertions."

Wolfgang bit his lip, but he parried this thrust too: "That I may accept as a compliment, for I certainly depended entirely upon my own exertions when I planned the Wolkenstein bridge, and I trust my work will bring me credit, even as 'the husband of Alice Nordheim.' But excuse me; these are matters which cannot interest a lady."

"They interest me," Erna said, bluntly. "My home was destroyed by the Wolkenstein bridge, and your work demanded yet another and far dearer sacrifice of me."

"Which you never can forgive me, I know," Wolfgang went on. "You reproach me for an unhappy accident, although your sense of justice must tell you that I am not to blame, that I do not deserve it."

"I do not blame you, Herr Elmhorst."

"You did in that most wretched hour, and you do it still."

Erna did not reply, but her silence was eloquent enough. Elmhorst appeared to have expected a denial, if only a formal one, for there was an added bitterness in his tone as he continued: "I regret infinitely that I should have been the one chosen to conduct the last business arrangements with Baron Thurgau. They had to be made, and their tragic conclusion lay beyond human foresight. It was not I, Fräulein Thurgau, but iron necessity that required of you the sacrifice of your home; the Wolkenstein bridge is not less guilty than I am."

"I know it," Erna observed, coldly; "but there are cases in which one finds it impossible to be just,–you should see that, Herr Elmhorst. You are now a member of our family, and may rest assured that I shall show you all the consideration due to a relative; for my feelings I cannot be called to account."

Wolfgang looked her full and darkly in the face: "In other words, you detest my work and–myself?"

Erna was silent: she had long outgrown the childish waywardness that had once prompted her to tell the stranger to his face that she could not endure him or his sneers at her mountain-legends. The young lady never dreamed of conduct so unbecoming, and she confronted him now in entire self-possession. But her eyes had not forgotten their language, and at this moment they declared that the girlish nature was quelled only in appearance,–it still slumbered untamed in the depths of her soul. There was a lightning-flash in them which uttered a quick, vehement 'yes' in answer to Wolfgang's last question, although the lips were mute.

It was impossible for Elmhorst to misunderstand it, and yet he gazed into the blue depths of those hostile eyes as if they had the power to hold him spell-bound; only for a few seconds, however, for Erna turned away, saying, lightly, "We certainly are having a very odd conversation, talking of sacrifice, blame, and hatred, and all on the day of your betrothal."

"You are right, Fräulein Thurgau; let us talk of something else," Wolfgang rejoined.

But they did not talk of anything else; on the contrary, an oppressive silence ensued. Erna seated herself and became apparently absorbed in an examination of the pictures on her fan, while her companion walked to the door of the next room as if to admire its magnificence. His face, however, no longer showed the proud satisfaction which had informed it a quarter of an hour before: he looked irritated and ill at ease.