Clear the Track! A Story of To-day

"Uncle, you have no right to mock at my love," said Dagobert, somewhat dejectedly from behind his arm-chair–but the doctor was already outside the door, on his way to his sitting-room, whence he got his hat and cane.

"Hoar-frost of old age!" growled he. "Silly fellow! I'll teach him whether my heart is dead or not! You are to be surprised!" And so saying, at a rapid pace he set off for the Manor-house.

Leonie Friedberg sat at her desk, finishing a letter, when the doctor was announced; amazed she looked up:

"What, is that you, Doctor? I was just looking for Dagobert, he is generally so punctual."

"Dagobert is not coming to-day," answered Hagenbach shortly.

"Why not? Is he unwell?"

"No, but I have ordered him to stay at home–the accursed boy!"

"You are too hard upon the young man. You always treat him as though he were still a boy, although he is twenty years old!"

The doctor hardly listened to the fault found with him, but seated himself and continued wrathfully:

"A wretched tale he has gotten up again. I ought not to tell you, properly, but spare you the vexation. However, there is no help for it, you must learn about it."

"Heavens! What has happened?" asked Leonie, uneasily. "Nothing serious, I hope?"

Hagenbach's looks certainly portended something serious, as he drew forth his nephew's poetic effusion from his coat-pocket, and handed it to the lady with the air of one bringing the worst of news.

"Read, please!"

Leonie began to read, conning the verse from beginning to end with an indescribable tranquillity, nay, a smile even quivered about her lips. The doctor, who waited in vain for an expression of indignation, saw himself, finally, compelled to come to the aid of her understanding.

"It is a poem," he enlightened her.

"So I perceive."

"And it is addressed to you."

"According to all probability, inasmuch as my name stands at the head."

"Why, is that pleasant to you?" cried Hagenbach hotly. "You find it all right, do you, for him to fall at your feet–' that is the phrase used by the scribbler."

Still smiling, Leonie shrugged her shoulders. "Let your nephew indulge his little romance; it is harmless enough. I really have no objection to it."

"But I?" exclaimed the doctor. "If the simpleton manages a single time more to praise you in song, and lay at your feet the passionate emotions of his youthful breast, then–"

"What is it to you?" asked Leonie, astonished at this vehement outbreak, for which, in her opinion, there was no ground.

"What is it to me? Ah! that indeed–You do not know yet–" Hagenbach suddenly arose and stepped close in front of her.

"Look at me for once, Miss Friedberg!"

"I find nothing especially remarkable about you."

"You are not expected to find anything remarkable about me, either," said the doctor, quite hurt. "But I look quite passable, considering my years."

"Certainly, Doctor."

"I have a lucrative position, not an inconsiderable fortune, a pretty house–that is much too large for me by myself."

"I do not doubt all this, but what is–"

"And as to my roughness," continued Hagenbach, without heeding the interruption, "it is only outwardly so. In the main I am a regular lamb."

Leonie looked very incredulous at this assertion and listened with increasing surprise.

"All in all, a man with whom one might live happily," wound up the doctor with great self-complacency. "Do not you agree with me that this is so?"

"Why, yes, but–"

"Well, then say 'yes,' then the story is done."

Leonie started from her chair and blushed crimson.

"Doctor–what does this mean?"

"What does it mean? Ah, yes, I have quite forgotten to make you a regular offer. But that will do to repeat. There, now–I offer you my hand and beg for your consent–let us shake hands on it!"

He stretched out his hand, but the lady of his choice drew three steps back and said sharply: "You must take account of my surprise; I have really never deemed it possible that you could honor me with an offer."

"You think so, because you have nerves!" said Hagenbach, quite unconcernedly. "Oh, that is nothing, I'll soon rid you of them, because I am a doctor."

"I only regret that I shall give you no opportunity for this," was the cool response, that made the doctor open his eyes in astonishment.

"Am I to consider this as a rejection?" asked he, dejectedly.

"If you choose to call it so. At all events it is the answer to your offer put so respectfully and with such uncommon tenderness."

The doctor's face lengthened considerably. He had, most assuredly, not deemed it necessary to impose a bridle upon his well-known bluntness, and to make any circumlocution in his courtship. He knew very well that, in spite of his years and his gray hairs, he was "a good match," and that more than one lady of his acquaintance was ready to share his station in life and his property, and here where his offer was doubtless a great, hardly-dreamed-of, piece of good fortune for the portionless girl, he was unceremoniously discarded! He believed that he had not heard aright.

"You actually then reject my offer?" he asked.

"I regret to have to decline the honor destined for me."

There ensued a brief pause. Hagenbach looked alternately upon Leonie and upon the desk, or rather the portrait over it, but then his restrained vexation got the better of him.

"Why?" asked he brusquely.

"That is my affair."

"Excuse me, it is my affair, if I am discarded: I want, at least, to know wherefore."

At every question put, he took one step forward, and at last made such demonstrations against the portrait, that Leonie planted herself in front of it, as if for a shield.

"If you lay such great stress upon it," said she, suppressing her tears, "be it so, then. Yes, Engelbert was my betrothed, whom I shall eternally bewail. He stayed in the family as tutor where I was governess, our spirits were congenial and we plighted our troth."

"That must have been very touching," growled Hagenbach, fortunately so softly that Leonie did not hear him; she continued with quavering voice:

"Engelbert then went as traveling-companion to Egypt; there it came over him like a revelation, and he determined to devote the rest of his life to the conversion of the poor heathen. He magnanimously gave me back my word, which I would not accept, however, but declared myself ready to share with him his hard, self-sacrificing vocation. It was not to be! He wrote me once more before his departure for the interior of Africa, and then"–her voice broke into sobs–"then I heard nothing more of him."

Hagenbach did not at all share in this grief; he rather felt an extraordinary satisfaction over it, viz., that the aforesaid betrothed lover and converter of the heathen was really dead and out of the way; but the narration mitigated his displeasure. It took away every insulting feature of the rejection. He fell into a reconcilable mood, that extended even to his rival.

"Peace to his ashes!" said he. "But one day you will cease to bewail him, and not spend all your days grieving over him. That may have been the fashion in Werther's time, but at the end of the nineteenth century the betrothed sheds the usual tears over the departed lover, and then takes another one–if such an one, perchance, there be. In our case, he is here and repeats his offer. So, then, Leonie, will you have me? Yes or no?"

"No!" said Leonie, drawing herself up indignantly. "If I did not know what I possessed in the tender, devoted love of my Engelbert, your courtship would show me. Perhaps you would not have approached any other lady in such an–unceremonious fashion, but the lonely, faded girl, the poor, dependent teacher, must esteem it great good luck if a 'good support' is offered her. To what end use formalities? But I have too high a regard for matrimony to consider it only from this point of view. I would rather remain as I am, poor and dependent, than be the wife of a man, who, not even as a lover, thinks it worth his while to treat me with proper respect.–And now, Doctor, we may consider our interview as closed." She made him a bow and left the room.

Hagenbach stood there, confounded, watching her disappearing figure.

"That is what you call being lectured," said he. "And I have quietly submitted to it. As for the rest, she did not look bad in her excitement, with her crimsoned cheeks and flashing eyes. Humph! I didn't know how pretty she is.–Yes, these cursed bachelor-ways! One is utterly ruined by them."

CHAPTER XV.

A WEDDING DAY

At Odensburg, flags were flying, cannon being fired off from the surrounding heights, and triumphal arches, wreaths of evergreen, and flowers, everywhere greeted the young bridal-pair who had just returned, after the performance of the marriage-ceremony.

The service had taken place in the somewhat remote church of Saint Eustace, where Dernburg, too, had once stood before the altar with his own bride. Now the wedding-procession came back, a long line of carriages, at the head of which drove the equipage of the newly-married couple.

The works were silent to-day, as a matter of course, the workmen forming a lane all the way to the Manor-house, and the golden sunshine of this beautiful day in late summer enhanced the merriment and jollity that had taken possession of Odensburg to its utmost bounds upon this great occasion.

Now the carriage drove through the grand triumphal arch, that made a gorgeous display with its banners and green wreaths, drawing up in front of the terrace. Eric lifted his bride out. The foot of that young woman trod literally on flowers, which had been scattered along her path in profusion. The entrance-hall was transformed into a garden blooming with sweet blossoms, and the entertaining-rooms, now thrown wide open for the reception of their new mistress, were likewise adorned.

Dernburg followed, with his sister on his arm, his features betraying deep emotion, when he embraced his son and daughter-in-law. He had offered a costly sacrifice, when he consented to the separation and lasting abode of the young pair in the South, but the infinite rapture depicted upon Eric's face indemnified the father for it, in some measure. Then Dernburg's glance fell upon Maia, who now entered by Wildenrod's side. He surveyed the proud bearing and handsome appearance of the man, who seemed just fitted, one day, to be the presiding genius of Odensburg. He saw the sweet countenance of his darling equally illumined by the light of joy, and then the shadow passed away also from his own brow. Fate offered him full indemnity for what he had to give up.

Maia flew into her brother's arms and then kissed her beautiful sister-in-law with the greatest tenderness. Oscar, too, embraced the young pair, but as he stooped down to Cecilia, he gave her a dark look, half-solicitous, half-threatening: and she must have felt this, too, for she slightly shuddered, and by a quick movement, extricated herself from his arms.

Not much time was allowed, however, for family greetings, inasmuch as other carriages now drove up to the door, and the wedding-guests began to assemble. The newly-married pair were congratulated upon all sides and soon formed the center of the brilliant circle that had collected here. None of the prominent people in the neighborhood were missing, with the solitary exception of Count Eckardstein, who had declined the invitation.

The young husband was inexpressibly happy. On this day, that had witnessed the fulfillment of his most ardent desires, his health also seemed to have been given back to him. He no longer looked sickly and broken. With flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, he accepted, with smiles, the congratulations offered him, and exhibited a cheerfulness and animation, that visually did not belong to his nature. His eyes continually turned to her, who had just linked her destiny with his own, as though he could not exist a moment without beholding her loved face.

And this admiration was pardonable enough. Cecilia looked radiantly beautiful in her bridal attire. The white satin gown, costly lace veil, and–Eric's present–the diamonds that sparkled on neck and arms, enhanced the peculiar charm of her appearance. Only her beautiful face looked strangely pale beneath her myrtle-crown. She too smiled and bowed, in acknowledgment of the congratulations that were spoken, and uttered the usual grateful speeches; but there was something forced and cold in that smile, and her voice was without ring. Fortunately this attracted nobody's attention, for the right to look pale and serious was allowed a bride.

The director of the Odensburg works and Dr. Hagenbach, who were both among the guests, stood in a window, somewhat apart. The former had undertaken the superintendence of the festal arrangements, with which the employés meant to compliment the son of their chief upon his wedding-day. All had succeeded beyond their expectations,–the triumphal arches, the decoration of the road to the church, the delegations, and congratulatory addresses in prose and verse, which had been partly attended to the day before. The main thing, however, was yet to come–the grand holiday parade of the workmen themselves, who were just now forming into line out of doors. The director was mildly excited because his management had been called in question, and spoke in a low, and forcible manner to the doctor, who, however, listened abstractedly and often looked across at the young pair, who were still surrounded by a circle of friends.

"I only wish the parade had been appointed for yesterday," said he, in a low tone. "The procession will be more than an hour in passing by, and all that time the bridal pair will be kept out upon the terrace. It is too much upon Eric. The ceremony, the parade, then the state dinner, and finally the leave-taking. From the first, I have been opposed to these great and noisy festivities, but was out-voted on all sides. Even Herr Dernburg wanted the entertainment to be as magnificent as possible."

"That is quite in the nature of things, at the wedding of his only son," suggested the director, "and the participation of the Odensburg hands was not to be rejected. I think we shall gratify him with our procession; it must make a fine show in the bright sunlight. As for the rest, I cannot understand your solicitude about the young master. He looks splendidly–I have never seen him as cheerful and fresh-looking as to-day."

"That is the very thing that makes me uneasy. There is something feverish in his excitement, and in his condition any excitement is poison. Would that he were now quietly seated in the carriage by his wife's side, having left all this jubilation behind them."

They were interrupted by a servant announcing that the procession was ready to move, only awaiting the appearance of the family. The director stepped up to the young couple, and in the name of all the Odensburg employés, asked them to accept their homage.

Eric smiled, and offered his arm to his young wife, that he might escort her to the terrace. Dernburg and the guests joined them.

That was a fascinating panorama on a grand scale that now unfolded itself before their eyes, out of doors, in the bright noonday sun. The chief officers stood at the foot of the terrace, while their subordinates headed single groups of the gay procession, which had taken its position on the broad piece of level ground extending up to the works, and now put itself in motion.

In dense and endless masses, with music and waving banners, the thousands of workmen marched past, the men from the forges up in the mountains having joined them. By a very skillful arrangement they had interspersed groups of children, that with happy effect broke the monotony of the procession. The pupils of the schools founded by Dernburg stepped proudly along, in their Sunday clothes, pleasure in a holiday beaming from every face: when they caught sight of the bride they waved caps and bunches of flowers, almost splitting their little throats with the loud cheers that they gave out one after another.

It cost trouble to keep the way clear for the procession, for the wives of the workmen, with the tiniest children in their arms, lined the sides of the road, and, besides, the inhabitants of all the region round about had streamed hither. All eyes were turned towards the terrace, to the white form of the bride, before whom all standards were lowered, and for whom all this rejoicing was made: she was the one to whom the whole entertainment was given, and received honors such as usually fall only to the lot of a princess. Incessantly she bowed her head in recognition of the people's kindness, but there was something of restraint in her action, and her large, dark eyes looked coldly upon all these demonstrations of joy, as though she saw nothing of them, and as though in far, far-off space she sought something entirely different.

Eric, on the contrary, as was most unusual with him, took the liveliest interest in all that was going on. He drew Cecilia's attention to special features of the procession, turning repeatedly to the director to thank him for all the gratification that his skill was affording them, and seemed to have entirely laid aside his timidity and reserve. At other times it had been painful and oppressive to him, to be the chief person upon occasions of the sort, but to-day he hailed it with joyful pride, for the sake of his young wife.

Dernburg stood by his son's side, and received these demonstrations of popularity with kindly gravity. Who could blame him, if his chest heaved more proudly and his massive form became more erect, at sight of the thousands who were marching by? Those were his workmen to whom, for thirty long years, he had been a master, but also a father, for whose weal he had labored and toiled as for his own, and these they would estrange from him! These were to turn from him to follow another, who, as yet, had done nothing for them; who had begun his career by setting up opposition to the man who had been a greater benefactor to him than to all besides! A contemptuous smile played about the lips of the lord of Odensburg, the ground upon which he stood was firm as a rock; of that he felt impressed more strongly than ever to-day.

But still another looked with swelling bosom and flashing eyes upon the masses flowing by,–Oscar von Wildenrod, who stood with Maia under one of the orange-trees. Gigantic as had the control of the Odensburg works appeared to him, from the start, never had the power and importance of Dernburg's position struck him as it did to-day–and this was to be his future destination. To be the ruler of such a world, to guide it with a word, a sign,–that had been his aim since that first evening when he had looked over at those works, veiled as they were in the darkness of night. Now, at last, he stood close before his goal.

His glance turned to Maia, and the proud triumph resting upon his features melted into a blissful smile. The half-comic, half-solemn dignity, with which Maia wore the long train to her blue silk gown, unused, as she was to such an appendage, became her charmingly; her rosy cheeks glowed from joyous exhilaration. With the frolicsomeness of a child she let herself be borne along by the waves of joyful excitement that were bounding in her heart. She knew that her father had withdrawn his opposition to her love.

"Is it not beautiful?" asked she, lifting her radiant eyes to his face. "And Eric is so happy!"

Oscar smiled and bent over her.

"Oh, I know one who will be happier than Eric, when he stands there on yonder spot, with his young bride by his side, when–"

"Hush, Oscar!" interposed Maia with glowing face. "You know–papa will not allow a whisper of that now."

"Nobody hears us," said Oscar, and indeed the noise of the music and cheers drowned his passionate whispering. "And your papa is not so stern as he would have us believe. He has, it is true, denied my petition to have our engagement publicly announced to-day, it was hard enough to wrest a consent from him on any terms. But now you are here, and if his darling asks him, he will not say her nay. I shall renew the siege to-morrow–will you help me, my Maia?"

She did not answer, only her eyes told him, that he should not lack the support asked for: with soft but fervent pressure he took her hand. Wildenrod evidently had no objection to the company, guessing what at present they were not to be told.

The last group of workmen had just gone by, the marching past was at an end, and the whole mass of spectators moved in a body to the now vacant railroad station, in order to take the next train. On the terrace, too, everything was now in motion. The director once more received the thanks of Dernburg and his son, to which were added the compliments of the guests present, for the successful manner in which the affair had been conducted, and then the young couple with their friends retired into the house.

They were greeted in the vast entrance-hall by strains of music, and a table stood in waiting, richly decorated with flowers, silver and cut-glass, whence the most tempting refreshments were served. Little as Dernburg liked ordinarily to make a display of his wealth, to-day no expenditure was spared that could add to the splendor of the occasion.

The meal passed as is usual at such times: healths were drunk, and after sitting at table for about two hours the dancing began, for which the younger portion of the company had waited longingly.

The newly-married pair only participated in the first grand promenade and then withdrew. Maia, who was escorted back to her place by Wildenrod, saw that they left the hall with some surprise.

"Why do Eric and Cecilia break up already?" asked she. "They are not to set off for an hour to come?"

"It is Dr. Hagenbach's fault," declared Oscar. "He fears that Eric has over-exerted himself–quite unnecessarily, it seems to me, for Eric has never looked better than to-day."

"So it seems to me; but Cecilia looks so much the paler. She was all the while so grave and silent–I would have imagined a happy bride looking very differently."

Wildenrod's eyes had likewise followed his sister, a dark frown gathering upon his brow the while. But then, he shrugged his shoulders and replied in a careless tone:

"She is worn out and fagged; no wonder either. The director has imposed a little too much upon us, with this endlessly long procession of his, for there we had to stay until the last company had marched by."

Maia shook her head, while her childlike features became grave and thoughtful. "Eric thinks it is something different, he is anxious to learn what."

"What is it that Eric wants to learn?" asked Wildenrod suddenly, so sharply that the young girl looked at him in surprise.

"Oh, he is mistaken perhaps, but upon my return he lamented to me the alteration that had taken place in Cecilia during the past few weeks. He is afraid that some trouble is weighing upon her mind, and hoped that she might be persuaded to confide in me, since he had failed to learn her secret. I gladly obliged him by approaching her on the subject, but got nothing for my pains. She was equally reserved with me–Eric was quite miserable about it."

Oscar bit his lip and an expression came out upon his features that terrified Maia. As soon, however, as he noticed her questioning look, he gave a short laugh and said mockingly: "I am afraid Eric will make life hard for himself and his wife, with his overstrained tenderness. Fortunately Cecilia is not attuned to such sentimentalities, and will laugh him out of his tendency to 'make mountains out of mole-hills.'"

The waltz just now beginning, interrupted the conversation between the two. A young officer to whom the daughter of the house was engaged for this dance, came up to claim her hand. Maia, who, for the first time danced in a large company, entered heartily into this amusement, but her eyes quickly turned again to the spot where the Baron stood, or rather had stood, for he was no longer there. She sought him in vain; he must have left the room.

Eric had attended his young wife to her chamber, and then repaired to his own apartments, to change his suit. He smiled over the painful solicitude of the doctor, who could never get over treating him as a sick man, no matter how well he felt, as for instance to-day. But with the prescription itself he was well pleased, for not yet had he been allowed a single minute of his wife's society in private. His traveling-suit was quickly donned, and now there was still left a half hour for a sweet, confidential chat, that nobody could disturb.