Clear the Track! A Story of To-day

With a light laugh she turned to go. Silently Runeck led the way. He was right, the greater danger lay in the descent.

From time to time, at especially critical places, he exhorted her to be cautious, with a few words, or by a movement of the arm offered his assistance, which, however, was not accepted. His beautiful companion walked along over the giddy, steep path, as carelessly as over the smoothest of roads. Her light foot carried her over the rubble-stones, where Egbert's heavier tread found no good hold, and where there was climbing or leaping to do, with the help of her staff, she would swing herself from rock to rock. There was a bewitching grace in every moment of her slender white form, although, at the same time, that bold rash sport with danger that sets foresight at defiance.

They had already accomplished the greatest part of the way, already the bright green of the little mountain meadow was smiling a welcome, when Cecilia heedlessly again set her foot upon a loose rubble-stone, but this time it gave way, and rolled into the chasm; she lost her balance, tottered, stumbled–now the horrible instant of her fall, a loud shriek of dismay, then it grew dark before her eyes.

But the next second she was seized and held. Flinging his stout staff from him, Egbert had turned around as quick as lightning, and propping himself with gigantic strength against the cliff, he caught up the girl's trembling form and convulsively held her tight in his arms.

Cecilia had hardly lost her consciousness for more than a minute, almost immediately it was restored to her, and her large, dark eyes were shyly lifted up to her deliverer's face, that was bent over her. She saw that it was deadly pale, saw the expression of unspeakable agony upon his usually cold features, and felt the wild, stormy beating of the heart against which her head rested! She was the one who had been in peril, but upon his countenance was stamped the agony of death!

Thus they tarried awhile, motionless, when Runeck slowly let his arm drop. "Rest upon my shoulder," said he softly. "Right firmly–look not to the right nor left, only upon the path in front of you–I am holding you."

He picked up his staff and then put his right arm about her, so as best to give her support. Cecilia passively obeyed; that horrible danger, the nature of which she now, for the first time, realized, had broken her spirit of opposition; she still trembled in every limb and her head swam. Thus they slowly continued the descent. That light, delicate figure could hardly have been felt as a burden by so strong a man, and yet his breath came quickly and heavily, and a dark flush glowed upon his cheek.

Finally, the solid ground was reached, and they stood in the meadow. All the way down they had exchanged not a single word, but now Cecilia straightened herself up. She was still pale, but she tried to smile as she offered her hand to the man who had saved her life.

"Herr Runeck–I thank you."

There was a strange ring in those words, something that told of a genuinely warm heart and overflowing gratitude, but Egbert only touched lightly the proffered hand, and immediately let it drop again.

"I deserve no thanks, lady. I would have done the same service to any other whom I had seen in such peril. When you have recovered somewhat from your fright, I shall conduct you to Crownwood, where you said you had left your carriage and horses. Even that is tolerably far."

Cecilia looked at him in surprise, almost in dismay. Was that the same man, who had awhile ago bent over her in such tender solicitude, whose whole being had quivered in wild, feverish excitement as he had borne rather than led her down the mountain? There stood he before her, with stolid features, speaking with the same old calm composure, as though the memory of those last fifteen minutes had already been expunged from his memory. But they had been, nevertheless–a pair of dark eyes had looked into depths hitherto strongly locked up and knew not what it concealed.

"Do you take me to be so cowardly, that I tremble for hours over a danger surmounted?" asked Cecilia softly. "I am only tired from the difficulties of the walk and my feet pain me; I must rest for a quarter of an hour."

She let herself down under a tall fir-tree, the moss-covered roots of which offered a natural resting-place. She was indeed exhausted and over-fatigued, it was easy to see, but her companion had not a word of commiseration to spare her. He seemed to have but one wish, and that was to give up his office as guide as quickly as possible.

The mountain-meadow, with its sunny green, shone bright in contrast with the dark forests. Behind it loomed up the Whitestone, while in front an extensive view of the mountains was afforded. The landscape had nothing of the bright smiling beauty of the south, nor the overpowering grandeur of the Alps, but there rested upon it a peculiar charm, dreamy and melancholy as its legendary world.

Deep down lay the valleys, wrapt in bluish shadows, while the heights round about were flooded by bright sunshine, and over the valleys and hills spread an infinite expanse of green forest, out of which, only here and there, a bare wall of rock emerged, or a brook plunged wildly downward, splashing and foaming as it went. Mysteriously, as though from a far distance, came the soughing of the wind through the trees, swelling ever stronger and stronger, and then sinking again, dying away like a long-drawn sigh.

And yet other sounds were borne upon the breeze from the depths below. It was a Sunday morning and the churches of all the little villages scattered through the woods were calling to the service of God. Everywhere bells were ringing, one here sounded clear and full, another there low and sweet, mingling, as it died away, with the rustling of the trees.

Cecilia had taken off her hat and leaned against the trunk of the tree. Egbert stood a few steps apart, but his eyes hung upon her, as though riveted there by some wizard's spell. It availed nothing for him to forcibly resist; again they returned to feast themselves upon her captivating beauty, that graceful form clad in a simple white woolen gown, or that shining hair, which to-day was only lightly brushed back, and, held by a silver pin, fell loose on her neck. Her appearance was quite different from what Egbert had ever seen it before–so much lovelier–so much more dangerous!

For minutes had the silence lasted, when Cecilia looked up and asked in a low voice:

"And you are not going to scold me at all?"

"I? Why should I?"

"Why, you have good right to be angry with me, since, through my folly, your life, too, was exposed to imminent peril. I missed, by a hair's-breadth, dragging you down with me into that abyss–I am ashamed of myself."

This was uttered pleadingly, almost timidly–the tone was a strange one from that mouth. A dark flush appeared upon Egbert's brow, but his voice was as cold and distant as ever.

"You were not aware of the danger, but will not be so rash again."

"Will you not accept of my apology, but treat it as you did my thanks?" asked Cecilia reproachfully. "You have saved my life at the risk of your own–but at this moment you actually look as if you bitterly repent of it."

"I?" exclaimed Egbert vehemently.

"Yes, you! You stand there with an air that seems to say, you must defend yourself against an enemy in deadly fray. Against whom, pray? Only I am here!"

Again there was that roaring and rushing in the woods. It drew on above the hills like the waving of invisible giant-wings, and fuller and stronger sounded the church-bells from below. The whole air was instinct with sound, it seemed to soar on the sunbeams, and to swim and to shape themselves into a marvelous song, that at first sounded only in single detached chords, and then gradually changed to a melody that seemed mysterious but infinitely sweet, and both to shout and to lament.

True, those two up yonder, on that solitary, sunlit mountain-meadow, belonged to two different worlds,–it is true that a deep chasm parted them in all their thoughts and feelings. But the vain, spoiled child of fashionable society, who hitherto had only lived in a whirl of gayety, in an eternal chase after pleasure, to whom, heretofore, solitude had been synonymous with unbearable ennui--she now listened to that sweet, strange dream, like one lost in reverie. And the man, too, to whom hard work had never allowed time for meditation and dreams, in vain resisted the magical influence. He was wont to stand firm on the soil of reality, in the broad daylight, and to look into life with cool and penetrating vision–into a life full of toil and strife, full of hard, irreconcilable contrasts. He was made for this. What to him were the fantastic dreams of the world of the imagination? And yet now they held him fast within their toils, and through the midst of it all, with captivating sweetness, echoed a human voice:

"Against whom are you defending yourself? Only I am here."

Egbert drew his hand across his forehead, as though he would arouse himself forcibly from this dreamy state.

"I beg your pardon, Baroness Wildenrod," said he. "I was thinking of unpleasantnesses that I had had with my men at Radefeld. One like me, who has his work forever on his mind, is but poor company, as you see."

"Have I asked to be entertained by you?" asked Cecilia, with slight reproof in her accent. "Eric is right, you are as hard as your native rocks, rugged and inaccessible as the Whitestone itself. If one believes, that at last the magical word has been found, if the deep opens for one brief instant, the very next it closes, and a sealed surface of cold stone confronts the seeker."

Runeck made no reply. He had not idly dreaded this interview: he knew that he had betrayed himself in that moment of deadly peril and agony untold!

And his adversary, who had now learned to know her power, was inexorable and wanted to enjoy her triumph at any price. It had cost her trouble enough to impose her chains upon this brave, proud man,–chains which all others were so glad and willing to wear; now he was conquered, and she wanted to see him, too, at her feet.

"Eric bitterly laments that he sees so little of you now," she began again. "If you come to Odensburg–and you must come sometimes–you confine yourself exclusively to his father's work-room and decline every invitation to join the family circle. Your engagements at Radefeld furnish you with the pretext for this mode of procedure, but I know better what keeps you away.–It is my presence and my brother's."

"Mein Fräulein–"

"Do not attempt to deny it. From the very first minute, I have been conscious of the mute hostility that you bear to us, and have often enough asked myself why–I have never found an answer to my question."

"Then ask Herr von Wildenrod, he will give you that answer."

The tone of his voice should have warned Cecilia, it sounded hollow and threatening, but she paid no heed to it.

"Something happened to make you dislike one another that time you first met, did it not? I have suspected it! But since then years have elapsed. Oscar has long forgotten the affair, as you have heard from himself. Will you alone be so implacable? And may I not know what happened then–will you not tell me, too?"

Her voice sounded yet softer and sweeter than before; her large, dark eyes were lifted imploringly to the man, who clearly felt how the net was being drawn closer and closer about him, how will and power were succumbing to the flattering sounds of that voice, as clearly he also suspected that the beautiful soulless creature there by his side was only playing a contemptible game with him and feeling nothing but the triumph of vanity. Then he rallied his forces with a last desperate resolve to burst his chains.

"Do you speak as commissioned by Herr von Wildenrod, Baroness?" he asked, with such terrible bitterness, that the young lady started and looked at him in surprise.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, that for the Baron much depends upon his learning what I really know, and his sister may well seem to him the tool well fitted for the purpose."

Cecilia rose to her feet, shocked and excited. Although these words were perfectly unintelligible to her, so much she did understand, that the matter involved here was something very different from the expected conquest. This was not the language of a man upon whose lips hovered a declaration of love. Something like hatred and contempt flashed upon her from his eyes.

"I do not understand you, Herr Runeck," said she, with rising warmth, "but I have a feeling that you insult me and my brother. Now, I will know, what happened that time between you two, and you are to tell it me!"

"Should that really be necessary?" asked he, cuttingly. "Herr von Wildenrod will have sufficiently instructed you. Well, then, tell him I know more of his past, than might be pleasant to him!"

Cecilia turned pale; her eyes, too, flashed threateningly, the same lurid light burning in them as in the glance of her brother when he was provoked.

"What does that mean?" cried she, trembling from excitement. "To whom do your words refer? Beware, lest Oscar call you to account!"

Her warning came too late, producing not the slightest effect upon Egbert, whose nervous system had been subjected to great strain, through the silent, torturing conflict, which he had been waging for months. He was intensely excited. Had he been the calm and collected man of earlier days, he would not have spoken, at least not at this hour and this place; he would have spared in Cecilia, the woman. But now there fermented within him only that wild desire after revenge upon her who had stolen his soul from him, who, syren-like, had chained to herself all his thoughts and feelings, and whom he believed that he hated, wanted to hate, because he despised her. If he should now inflict a deadly insult upon her, if he should open a gulf between them that no bridge could span–no word nor look cross–that would bring deliverance, break the spell, then an end would be put to it!

"Baron von Wildenrod is to call me to account, is he?" cried he, with bitter scorn. "The thing might shape itself differently. I have hitherto been silent, had to be silent, for my own conviction, however firm it might stand, would go for nothing against Eric's passion and his father's sense of justice. They will demand proofs, and I have them not at present. But I shall know how to find them, and then my forbearance ceases."

"Are you out of your senses?" interposed Cecilia, but he continued with increasing vehemence.

"Eric may possibly bleed to death from the wound that I must inflict upon him, but this is a blow that must strike him sooner or later. Better that it should happen now, when there is still room for retreat, when he is not yet chained to a woman who will risk his love and happiness as awhile ago she did her own life, making sport of them as she has hitherto done of all who came near to her. You are your brother's sister, Baroness Wildenrod, and have doubtless been taught by him how cards are shuffled. He and you already feel yourselves to be the owners of Odensburg; do not triumph too soon! You do not yet bear the name of Dernburg, and ere it comes to that, I shall stake everything upon guarding that name and Odensburg from becoming the prey of two–adventurers!"

The horrible word was out, and Cecilia shrank as though she had been struck. Pale as a ghost, incapable of speech, she stared at the man, whom she had fancied to be enthralled by her charms, and who now suddenly stood unmasked as a pitiless foe. She did not perceive the fierce pain, almost amounting to delirium, that raged in his soul and carried him away beyond all the bounds of discretion, knew not that every one of those words, that he hurled so crushingly at her, bit himself with tenfold force; she only felt the deadly insult that he had inflicted upon her. Not until he ceased to speak, did she recover from that paralyzing shock.

"Ah, that is too much–too much! You heap up one slander, one insult upon the other. I do not know at what your insinuations point, but I do know that they are all lies, shameful lies, that you will have to render an account for!"

Here was such a glowing outburst of indignation, such stormy revolt against unmerited contumely, that it removed any doubt as to the truth of her words. Egbert, too, seemed to feel this, for in his dark, threatening eyes flashed something like a gleam of hope.

With an impulsive movement, he drew one step nearer.

"You do not understand me? Actually not? You are not your brother's confidante? Answer me!"

"No–no!" gasped Cecilia, still quivering from rage, but, against her will, constrained by the torturing suspense conveyed in that question.

Egbert looked at her, his glance seemed to penetrate her inmost soul, as though he would therein read the truth, then his chest heaved with a deep, deep sigh. "No," said he, dispiritedly, "You know nothing!"

There followed a long, trying pause. The ringing of bells in the valley had gradually ceased, only a single one softly sounding from a great distance. So much the loader roared the wind, wailing as though it bore bad tidings on its mighty wings.

"Then I have to beg your pardon," began Egbert again, his voice having a singularly veiled sound. "I do not take back my accusation against the Baron. Repeat to him word for word what I said, looking him in the eye, as you do so–perhaps you will then no longer rail against me as a liar."

In spite of the subdued tone there was such terrible positiveness in these words, that Cecilia quaked. For the first time, a dread fear, a secret anguish, took possession of her. This Runeck looked as if he were ready to maintain the truth of his words in the face of the whole world. Only suppose that he had not spoken falsely–suppose–she cast the thought far from her, but nevertheless she turned faint and dizzy.

"Leave me!" said she, with quivering lips. "Go!"

Egbert's eye rested moodily upon her countenance, then he bowed his head.

"You cannot forgive the affront I gave you. I understand that. But, believe me, this has also been a trying hour for me–the most trying of my life!"

He went, and when Cecilia looked up, he had already disappeared among the trees, and she stood alone. High up on the cross of the Whitestone her veil was waving and fluttering, about her murmured the woods, and the last church-bell died softly away in the distance.

CHAPTER X.

MAIA'S CHOICE

On the terrace of the Odensburg manor-house Eberhardt Dernburg and Oscar von Wildenrod were walking up and down, engaged in conversation. They had become absorbed in a political discussion, that was conducted with much animation on the part of the older gentleman, while the younger, contrary to his custom, appeared to be silent and abstracted. From time to time his glance would be directed to the large grassplot where Maia was playing croquet with Count Victor von Eckardstein.

"There will be a hot contest at this session of the Reichstag, as is plainly to be foreseen," Dernburg was just saying. "It is to be called together immediately after the elections and I must just make up my mind, to sacrifice the greatest part of the winter to my duties as a member."

"Do you calculate then, positively, upon being re-elected?" asked Wildenrod.

"Of course I do!" Dernburg looked at him in surprise. "I have been representing my electoral district for the past twenty years, and the Odensburg votes alone suffice to ensure my election."

"I was just going to ask you about that. Are you perfectly sure of those votes too? Much has altered in the last three years."

"Not with me," said Dernburg quietly. "My workmen and I have known each other for tens of years. I know that insurrectionary influences have been at work–insinuations and the like. Trying with all my might I have not been able to protect Odensburg from these, and perhaps here and there these whisperings may have found individuals who would listen; but the mass of my men stand fast by me."

"Let us hope so!" A slight doubt was perceptible in the voice of the Baron, who, in spite of his short stay, showed himself perfectly au fait with the situation of affairs. "The socialists in the region round about have been uncommonly active, preaching, agitating, and stirring up things generally, and in many an electoral district, the candidate who was perfectly sure of an overwhelming majority, awoke to unpleasant surprises."

"But here I stand–and I believe myself fully equal to cope with those gentlemen," said Dernburg with the quiet conviction of a man who feels that he occupies a position that is unassailable. Wildenrod was about to answer, when a joyous laugh rang forth from the play-ground, and thither his glance was forthwith directed.

They presented an attractive picture, those two slender young people with their graceful movements, their cheeks glowing from warmth and excitement. Each thought to get the better of the other, triumphing when the opposing side failed to hit the mark, and between whiles chasing and teasing one another with unrestrained glee, like a couple of children.

Dernburg's eye had followed the direction taken by his companion's glance, and his grave features were lit up by a fleeting smile.

"Those frolicksome children! One might certainly excuse my little Maia, with her sixteen years, for allowing her spirits to run away with her a little too much, but the Lieutenant seems to forget entirely that he is no longer a boy."

"I am afraid, that Count Eckardstein will never have the earnestness that becomes a man," said Wildenrod coolly. "He has an amiable but a very superficial nature."

"There you do him injustice! Victor is a scatterbrain–alas–and has many a time caused his parents anxiety by various mad pranks–some of which Odensburg could tell of–but he always kept his heart in the right place. He is no genius, but open and honorable and intelligent enough to make a splendid officer some day."

"So much the better," remarked the Baron. "For the Count and–for Maia."

Dernburg turned around and looked at him in amazement. "What do you mean by that?"

"For Maia!"

"An explanation would hardly seem to be needed. Count Eckardstein shows his wishes and designs plainly enough, and I am convinced that it did not cost him the least struggle to fall in with his brother's scheme."

"What scheme?" A fold appeared between Dernburg's brows as he put this question.

Wildenrod slightly shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, it seems that the young Count is something of a spendthrift. You admit yourself that he has always been that, and is dependent entirely upon his brother, to whom fell the family estate. That a wild young officer should incur debts is natural enough, but in this case the measure to be tolerated must have been transgressed, at least that was the view Count Conrad took of it. It is said that violent scenes were enacted between the brothers, and really one cannot blame the elder for planning an heroic remedy for his younger brother."

These words were well calculated: each one struck home, as was manifest, although Dernburg asked with apparent composure:

"And, pray, what might that remedy be?"

"A rich marriage! It is said that the young Count has come back, by the desire or command of his brother, to resume the relations with Odensburg, that had been long since dropped, in order to gain an end that is easily guessed. Do you wonder that I am so accurately informed with regard to this matter? An accident! When we were recently invited to Eckardstein, I overheard a conversation between two gentlemen, who, indeed, had no idea that I was in the next room, else they would not have spoken so freely on private matters. They seem to regard the alliance as already an accomplished fact."

Dernburg's brow grew darker and darker during the progress of this speech, but his voice had its wonted resonance, when he replied:

"Ere such a thing could be 'fact' I would have the last word to say, for Maia is hardly anything more than a child yet–certainly much too young for any talk about her marriage.–Why, Eric, here you are, but with such a despairing look upon your face! Has Cecilia not deigned to make her appearance yet?"

Eric, who had just now joined them, did indeed look anxious and excited. "No, indeed, not yet!" answered he in a worried tone. "I have been over to the stables to inquire, but nobody knows where she can have driven to. She had the pony-carriage gotten up very early this morning while all the rest of us were asleep, and took nobody with her but Bertram. I really do not understand it."