Clear the Track! A Story of To-day

"It will turn out to be some caprice on her part," remarked Oscar. "Cecile is simply incalculable in her whims; you will have to get used to them, dear brother-in-law."

"I think Eric would do better to cure his future wife of this want of consideration," said Dernburg with some asperity. "It would not conduce to the happiness of a marriage."

Poor Eric did not look as if he had either the will or the inclination to break his betrothed of any habit. Wildenrod, however, quickly and soothingly suggested:

"Most likely some playful jest is at the bottom of it. I'll lay a wager that Cecile intends giving us a surprise by this mysterious expedition."

The game on the grass-plot, meanwhile, had gone on its way, now seeming to break up in a quarrel, which, however, was carried on by both sides good-humoredly, and finally ended in a reconciliation and a peal of laughter. Dernburg looked over at the pair anew, but no smile played upon his features now, and he called impatiently: "I should think, Maia, it was time to stop. Come to me, my child!"

Maia obeyed. Coming promptly, still heated as she was from the game, and Victor Eckardstein followed close behind her.

"I have a request to proffer to you in my brother's name, Herr Dernburg," said he in his open, cordial manner. "Conrad celebrates his birthday on Wednesday–there will be only a very limited number of guests, there, but the Odensburg family cannot be left out. May we count upon the pleasure of your company?"

This request was made in a tone which showed that the acceptance of the invitation was taken quite for granted. The answer, however, was very cool.

"I am sorry, Count Eckardstein, but we are expecting company ourselves from town on Wednesday, and shall have to perform the duty of hosts ourselves."

"Company? who, papa?" asked Maia in surprise, and with some curiosity. "I have not heard a word of it."

"Then you hear it now. At all events we regret that we cannot accept the invitation."

This declaration was made so positively, that any further discussion was precluded. Victor was silent, but the strangely cool tone struck him as well as the formal manner in which he was addressed, as Dernburg had always been in the habit of calling him by his first name. The young man's glance was involuntarily directed towards Wildenrod, as though he suspected he had been exerting some malign influence over his friend.

Such thoughts, however, are not apt to disturb young people for any length of time. Maia, with her merry talk, soon had the ball of conversation flying again, although Eric responded only in monosyllables and was as absent-minded as possible. He allowed himself, however, to be drawn by the other two into the conservatory, where two new orchids had just come into bloom.

On the terrace, silence reigned for a few minutes, then the Baron said in a muffled voice: "I should be sorry, if my report of the young count had injured him in your eyes, but circumstanced as we now are, I felt it to be my duty to speak."

Dernburg nodded approvingly. "Certainly, I thank you for it. As for the rest, I am not accustomed to condemn anybody upon the strength of mere gossip, but I shall find means to come at the truth in regard to the matter."

"Do so," said Wildenrod, with quiet assurance. "But as to Maia's too great youth, girls in our society often marry at that age, and if a man really engages her affections–"

"Engages in the pursuit of a rich heiress, forsooth, in order to settle up his affairs," remarked Dernburg with a bitterness which showed that the report had had its effect, nevertheless. "I shall guard my child against such a fate as that."

"It will not be easy to do, for a suitor must come forward who is free and independent, besides being rich enough himself to be exalted above the suspicion of interested motives. All others will have their eye upon your millions."

These words were thrown off with a certain premeditation, but Dernburg did not observe this.

"Not all!" said he, with emphasis. "I know one who's poor and possesses nothing but his brains–they count for much, though, and guarantee him a future. The path to wealth and independence was pointed out to him, all that he had to do was to stretch forth his hand, but in order to do this he had to sacrifice principle, and he did not go that way."

Oscar started, an uncomfortable suspicion being aroused in his mind. "Of whom are you speaking?"

"Of Egbert Runeck! Are you so much surprised. I have long since perceived that Eric would never be able, alone, to superintend at Odensburg, as must, some day, be his place to do–a man of my stamp is needed for that, and such an one is Egbert, who has not been brought up in my school for naught. But in Berlin, they caught him so fast in their Socialistic toils, that I almost despair of ever getting him loose."

"Have you really tried that, in spite of knowing–?"

"In spite of knowing everything–yes, I did, because I am convinced that some day his eyes will be opened–if it is only not too late for both of us."

Wildenrod's lips were tightly compressed, as though he wanted to force back an angry rejoinder, at last he said slowly: "Herr Dernburg, for the first time, I do not understand you."

"Maybe so, but you can always trust to this, that I shall not be the one to throw a firebrand into my Odensburg, with my own hand. If Egbert continues obstinate in his present convictions, then all is over between me and him. But he will not do so. Free course in life is what he needs, he will struggle and strive upward at any price: but also build up, create and finally be ruler over that which he has created. Such natures bend not lastingly under the yoke of a party that claims blind obedience, allowing no scope to individuality, no mighty preponderance of the single mind. I am only afraid that he will come to his senses after he has thrust his happiness far from him. I offered it to him–but he sacrificed it to his mad fancies!"

The Baron must already stand very high in his future connection's good graces, for him to speak to him thus of things that he had not even broached to his son; but Oscar did not seem to be pleasantly affected by this proof of confidence. A threatening cloud was upon his brow, and a yet more threatening fire flashed from his eyes, as he said with a voice almost stifled by passion: "You overestimate your favorite greatly. But, never mind–you seem to hint at something–" he broke off.

"What then, Herr von Wildenrod?"

"I would do better not to express it, since it involves a sheer impossibility."

"Why so?" asked Dernburg irritably.

"Because Egbert is the son of a common laborer? His parents are dead, but even if they were living–"

"I am above such prejudices."

Wildenrod was silent, he did not look at the speaker but away over at the works. There was a disagreeable look upon his face.

"You are of a different opinion on that point, I see," began Dernburg again. "In you stir the feelings of the aristocrat, to whom such a thing appears unheard of. I think differently. I let Eric choose upon his own responsibility, but I shall have to stand sponsor for my daughter's happiness. My little Maia,"–the voice of the man usually so stern had a strangely tender intonation,–"she was given to me late, but she is the sunshine of my life. How often have the merry tones of her clear young voice and the light of her bright eyes lifted me out of despondency. She is not to be the prey of the fortune-hunter. She shall be beloved and happy–and so far I know only one person into whose hands I could commit her future without solicitude, for I am convinced that he loves her. He is not calculating, he has proved that to me!"

A peculiar pallor lay upon the Baron's face. Was it anger or shame that palpitated in his soul at those last words? At all events he was spared any answer, for at this moment a servant entered with the announcement that the director was in the work-room and wanted to speak with the master.

"On Sunday? It must be about something very important!" said Dernburg, as he turned to go. "But one thing more, Herr von Wildenrod–do not let what we just talked about go any farther than ourselves. Consider it as confidential."

He went into the house, leaving Oscar alone. Now he knew that he was unobserved, and his brow resembled a threatening thunder-cloud, as he leaned with folded arms on the parapet of the terrace. Here was a danger that he had not apprehended, and with which he had never calculated upon having to cope, but in contrast with which the looming up of Count Eckardstein, that had just now appeared to him so menacing, faded away to a mere shadow. Dernburg evidently had settled it in his own mind that an attachment existed between his daughter and that Runeck, the simpleton, who had sacrificed the high prize offered him to a mere chimera,–that so-called conviction. About Wildenrod's lips now played a scornful smile of conscious superiority. He knew better to whom Maia's love was given, he felt himself equal to the conquest of this new adversary also. And there must be no more delay and no more pausing to reflect, the thing was to act! Oscar drew himself up with a determined air, it was not the first time in his life, that he had played va banque, and here the stake was happiness and a future that promised him everything.

At the end of the extended grounds of Odensburg, where they bordered on the wooded mountain, lay the "Rose Lake," a small sheet of water, that took its name from the water-roses, with which its surface was covered in summer. Now, indeed, none of the white blossoms had opened, only the whispering reeds and sedge-grass edged its shores; a huge beech-tree stretched its branches over it, with its foliage of fresh and tender green, and a dense thicket of blooming shrubbery fenced it in on all sides. It was a snug and quiet retreat, made, as it were, for solitary dreams.

Upon a bench beneath the beech-tree sat Maia, her hands full of flowers that she had plucked on her way, and now wanted to arrange. But this task was not accomplished, for by her sat Oscar von Wildenrod, who had accidentally sought the same spot, and managed to fascinate her so by his conversational powers, that she forgot flowers and everything else in her absorption.

He spoke of his travels at the North and South, there was hardly a land in Europe that he was not acquainted with, and he was a masterly narrator. His descriptions shaped themselves into pictures, in which landscapes, people and events came forth as though living before the listener. Maia followed him in his narrative with breathless sympathy, it all sounded so strange and unreal to her, whose world had hitherto been confined to the family circle.

"Oh! what have you not seen and experienced!" cried she admiringly. "What an entirely different sphere you moved in before you came to us at Odensburg!"

"Another, but not a better one," said Wildenrod earnestly. "It has, indeed, something blinding and intoxicating–this living in boundless freedom, with its perpetual change and fullness of impressions, and it blinded me, too, once upon a time, but that has long since past. There comes a day when one awakens from his intoxication, when one feels how hollow and empty and vain all this is, when one finds himself alone in that concourse of men and in that longed-for freedom–quite alone."

"But you have your sister!" Maia put in reproachfully.

"How long, though! In a few months she deserts me to belong to her husband, and I have a regular horror of going back to that empty and aimless existence. You have no idea, Maia, how I envy your father. He stands firmly and surely upon the foundation of his own labor and its results; to thousands he gives bread, and the blessings, love and admiration of all compass him about, and will follow him to the grave. When I sum up the results of my life–what is the remainder?"

Perplexed, almost shocked, Maia looked up at him who had uttered these bitter words. It was the first time that Wildenrod had adopted such a tone in her presence; she knew him as the brilliant man of the world, who, even when he approached her confidentially, always maintained the character of the elderly man, who conversed half-jocularly with the half-grown girl. To-day he spoke very differently, to-day he had let her have a glimpse of his inner life, and that overcame her shyness. "I have always thought that you were happy in that life, which seems lovely as a fairy-dream, when you tell about it," said she softly.

"Happy!" repeated he gloomily. "No, Maia, I have never been so, not for a day, nor for an hour."

"Yes, but–why did you lead that life so long?"

Oscar looked into those clear child-eyes, that looked up at him with earnest questioning in their depths, and involuntarily his eyes sought the ground.

"Why? Yes, why does one live at all? To win that happiness, of which they sing to us while we are still in our cradles, and of which we think in youth that it lies out in the wide world, in the dim blue distance. Restlessly, feverishly, we pursue it, ever thinking to attain to it, while it retreats farther and farther from us, until at last it fades away like a shadow until finally we give up the restless chase–and with it hope."

In spite of his strong effort to command himself, the disquiet of a tortured spirit was but only too transparent in these words, that had the ring of perfect sincerity. None knew better than Oscar Wildenrod what was that wild chase after happiness, which he had sought all these years–by what paths, indeed, he alone knew.

That woful confession sounded strange in these surroundings, at this season of spring, when everything breathed only beauty and peace. Bright lay the sunshine upon the mirror of the little lake, over which the dragon-flies were hovering dreamily, with their gay-colored, scintillating wings. Golden rays stole through the young leaves of the beech and played in the tender May-green. Round about bloomed the lilac, filling the air with its fragrance, varied by clumps of the yellow laburnum, covered with its rich freight of pendant clusters of bloom, and the lower shrubbery was strewn over, as it were, with wild hedge-roses. There was no end to the blooms, and in the background rose a distant chain of blue mountains, gravely taking a look into this little sunny paradise.

Wildenrod's chest heaved with his deep and heavy breathing; it seemed as though he wanted to inhale the peace and purity of his environment. Then he looked upon the young being at his side, upon the innocent, rosy countenance, that was so untouched by the slightest breath of that life which he had drunk of to its very dregs. But the brown eyes that were now fixed upon him were swimming in tears, and a low, quivering voice said:

"All that you have just been saying sounds so hard, so desperate. Do you really believe no longer in any happiness?"

"Oh, yes, now I believe in it!" cried Oscar with enthusiasm. "Here at Odensburg, I have learned again to hope. It is the old story of the jewel that one goes out into the world to look for, in a thousand ways, meanwhile it rests hidden in the deep and silent woods, until the happy man draws near, who finds it–and perhaps I am such a lucky fellow!"

He had caught the young girl's hand and clasped it firmly in his own. With sudden force, Maia recognized in these words, this movement, what had hitherto been but a dim, half-understood impression resting in her soul; there sprang up within her a sweet sense of joy and yet, at the same time, again came that mysterious, uneasy sensation, which she had experienced already at their first meeting, the dread of that dark, flaming glance, which seemed to magnetize her, as it were. Her hand trembled in that of the Baron.

"Herr von Wildenrod–"

"My name is Oscar!" interposed he beseechingly.

"Oscar–leave me!"

"No, I will not leave you!" ejaculated he passionately. "I have found the jewel, now I will catch it and keep it all my life long. Maia, years, tens of years part us, I have no longer youth to offer you, but I love you with all the fervent ardor of youth. From the instant when you advanced to meet me on the threshold of your father's house, I knew that you were my destiny, my all. And you love me too, I know it–let me hear it now from your own lips. Speak, Maia, say that you will be mine! You have no idea what power this word will exert over me–to deliver and to save."

He had thrown his arm around her, his passionate, glowing words passing over the trembling girl like the breath of a burning flame. Her head rested upon his bosom, and fixedly she looked up at him. Now she no longer shrank from meeting his eyes, she only saw the melting tenderness in them, heard only the confession of his love, and that bodeful dread was lost in triumphant rapture.

"Yes, I do love you, Oscar," said she softly. "Dearly love you."

"My Maia!"

It rang out like a shout of joy. Oscar folded her in his arms, kissing again and again the light hair and rosy lips of his beloved. An intoxication of bliss had come over him. The past, with its dark shadows, sank into oblivion, and to the man who was already approaching the autumn of life sounded joyously the message that every blossom was repeating: Spring is here!

After a while Maia gently extricated herself from his arms, her lovely face all aglow.

"But my father, Oscar, will he consent?"

Wildenrod smiled. He knew that the difference of age between himself and his betrothed would be an objection hard for Dernburg to overcome, that his consent would neither be easily nor quickly obtained, but this did not frighten him. "Your father desires only to see you beloved and happy, I know that from his own mouth," said he with overflowing tenderness. "And my Maia, my sweet, pretty child, you shall be happy and beloved!"

CHAPTER XI.

A SECRET FOE AND OPEN ENEMY

Dernburg sat in his office at the desk. He had just had a lengthy talk with the director of his works and was looking over the papers which he had left when the door was again opened. Count Eckardstein entered, who, as a guest of the house, needed no special announcement.

"I just saw the director leave," said he. "May I disturb you for a few minutes? I only come, preparatory to bidding adieu."

"Why, you will not be at dinner, as usual?" asked Dernburg, somewhat surprised.

"I thank you, I must return to Eckardstein.–Must I really have to report to my brother that you decline his invitation? We had depended so confidently upon your presence and that of your family."

"I am sorry. You have already heard that we have invited company to dinner, ourselves, for the day named."

This refusal of the invitation sounded just as positive as chilling, and so the young Count could but feel it to be. He impulsively drew a few steps nearer, and asked in a whisper:

"Herr Dernburg–what have you against me?"

"I? Nothing! What put such an idea into your mind, Sir Count?"

"Your very address proves it to me. This morning you called me Victor and treated me with your wonted kindness. Have I, then, become a stranger to you in the course of a few months? I am afraid that another influence has been brought to bear upon you, that I can guess."

Dernburg frowned, the hint at Wildenrod, which was only too intelligible, wounded him, but he was accustomed to go about things in a direct manner. Why seek to find out what he wanted to know by indirect methods. He looked at the handsome, open countenance of the young man, then he said slowly:

"I do not allow myself to be influenced, and it is not my way to condemn any one unheard, least of all you, Victor, whom I have known from the days of your earliest boyhood. Now that you introduce the subject yourself, it may as well be discussed between us. Will you answer me a few questions?"

"With pleasure, proceed."

"You stayed away from home a long while, and did not set foot on Eckardstein soil for years. Why was that?"

"It resulted from personal, family relations–"

"Which you would rather not talk about–I perceive."

"No, Herr Dernburg, I do not care to have concealments with you," said Victor, in a low tone. "My relation to my brother was never an especially friendly one, and since the death of our father has grown to be positively painful. Conrad is the elder, and heir of the entailed property, I am dependent upon him, and cannot maintain my rank as an officer without his assistance. He has often enough made me feel his unwillingness to do this, and in so insulting a manner, that I prefer to keep aloof from him."

One could see that it was exceedingly trying to the young Count to give this explanation, and still he was telling nothing that his hearer did not already know. The strained relations existing between the brothers was known to the whole neighborhood, but the main fault was attributed to the elder. Count Conrad, who, at the time, was still unmarried, and the senior of Victor by only a few years, was regarded as haughty and unmindful of the rights of others, and his ambition was a fact known to all. He was, therefore, anything but popular. Dernburg knew this likewise, but made not the slightest allusion to it, only asking:

"And yet you have come now?"

"This happened by my brother's express desire."

"He has concocted plans in conjunction with you–I know."

Victor started, and the blood began slowly to mount into his cheeks. Dernburg watched him sharply and inquisitively, while he continued:

"You apprehend, without doubt, what I mean. I shall be quite candid with you, but shall expect just as candid an answer. It is said that you have been summoned by Count Conrad to Eckardstein, in order to turn to account your former intimacy at Odensburg."

Victor started at this insulting speech.

"Herr Dernburg!"

"Victor, I ask you, is that so?"

The young man cast down his eyes in painful embarrassment.

"You put the question in a way–"

"That admits of no evasion. Yes or no, then?"

"You seem to take my courtship as an insult," said Victor, without lifting his eyes from the floor. "Is it such a crime, then, to seek the renewal of youthful friendship with such thoughts? Well, yes, I came here to seek a happiness that in memory took the shape of a bright little elf. What is there bad about that? At my age you would probably have done the same."

"But not at the behest of another person!" said Dernburg cuttingly. "And when I went courting I had a different fortune to offer from what you have, Herr Lieutenant."

The young Count was incensed, and with difficulty restrained himself, but his voice trembled, when he answered:

"You make poverty very bitter to me."

"Such is not my desire, for poverty is no disgrace in my eyes. You only share the fate of the younger sons in those families whose whole property is entailed upon the oldest. But they say that your brother has still more pressing reasons for exhorting you to make a so-called good match. I am sorry, Sir Count, to hurt your feelings, but you have sought this interview yourself, not I."

"So they have informed you of that, too, and you put the most shameful interpretation upon it," said Victor bitterly. "If I have been indiscreet, my brother has already given me good cause to rue it, and I repent tenfold at this moment. Well, yes, I did not keep free of debt, could not do so with the small means that were at my command. It would have been an easy thing for Conrad to release me from my obligations, but he did not do it, even putting before me the possibility of being obliged to send in my resignation, and then–"

"Then you acceded to his proposition!" Dernburg's voice had a harsh, contemptuous intonation. "I understand that perfectly; but you, on your side, will also understand that I am not willing to give my daughter as a prize in a financial operation."

The color came and went in the young man's face, but at the last word he sprang to his feet with a half-suppressed shriek, and shook his fist in the face of the elder man, who looked at him steadily.

"To what end is this, Count Eckardstein? Will you challenge me to a duel because I undertake to tell you my view of this matter? A man of my years and station does not commit such follies."

Again Victor let his hand drop and stepped back.

"Herr Dernburg, you have been a fatherly friend to me for years, Odensburg has been a second home for me, and you are the father of Maia, whom I–"