Clear the Track! A Story of To-day

"Little Maia!–I beg your pardon, Fräulein Dernburg, that was but a memento of the days of our childhood!"

Maia laughed merrily. "Yes, then I wore short-clothes and long, long plaits, by which you always used to hold me fast. But now I am angry, Count, very angry–you took me for Corona von Schmettwitz."

"A stratagem of war, for which you must pardon the soldier. By no other means could I have learned the truth. Or, do you seriously believe that I could mistake you for that lady, whom even as a boy I used to stand in such dread of, that I regularly ran away, when she was seen coming to Eckardstein?–How, still angry with your brother's former playfellow? He has often enough been yours as well."

"Yes, indeed, you did often condescend to play with 'little Maia,'" pouted she, while she threw back her hair, that was not yet perfectly dry. "The name is the only thing that you have retained."

"Yes, but I did retain something else," said the young Count slowly, while his eye was riveted upon that lovely little face. "Else I should not have immediately recognized you, when the gray mantle fell. At any rate, I should have gone to Odensburg within the next few days. Eric is at home, as I hear?"

"Yes, and he is engaged to be married! I suppose you have hardly heard of that yet?"

"Yes, I got an announcement of his betrothal, and must present to him my congratulations. I have, in general, so much to ask and hear, having become almost an entire stranger at home, and now we just have time–"

"We have no time at all," cried Maia, with a glance at the still half-open door. "Only see how it has cleared, and the rain has ceased. I believe the storm is over."

Count Victor stepped to the door and examined the clouds, but with an air that betrayed great disappointment. He had complained awhile ago of the pitiless shower-bath to which he had been exposed, but now he seemed to find the clearing up of the weather a greater infliction by far.

"Yes, the rain has stopped, to be sure, but it will soon begin again," said he hopefully. "At all events, we must wait until the next shower is over."

"Just to be shut up here for good by the rain?" remarked Maia. "No, I mean to take advantage of the lull and run to Odensburg as fast as I can. Come, Puck, let's run!"

"Then I'll run with you," laughed the Count. "So, Puck is the name of the little white creature that wanted to deny me the hospitality of the lodge. Come here, yelper, and let us make acquaintance."

Puck had scrutinized the stranger in the beginning with very critical mien, and, evidently, had not yet made up his mind whether to treat him as friend or foe, but now decided favorably. When the young man invited him to approach, he trustfully came nearer, and allowed himself to be stroked.

Thus the three set out sociably together on the way back. The rain had certainly ceased, but the wind raged in full force while they crossed the clearing, and after they had gained the shelter of the forest, the swaying tree-tops performed a little after-piece that well represented a driving rain, while such a dripping and drizzling came from every branch! And the somewhat low-lying foot-path had been converted into a running brooklet, so that Maia and her escort had to make their way sideways over moss and the roots of trees. The forest-stream itself was very much swollen, and had inundated the shore on both sides of the high bridge. They had to attempt a passage, leaping from rock to rock. In doing this Puck lost his balance, slid into the water, and howled piteously because he could not swim in the vortex. Maia, who already stood upon the bank, uttered also a shriek of anguish at sight of her pet's distress, and Count Eckardstein jumped with both feet into the water, seized the floundering creature, and brought it to his mistress, who bestowed a grateful look upon the gallant rescuer. Finally, in the middle of the woods, a wild apple-tree was discovered in full bloom, which drew from the young girl a shout of rapture and gave the Count an opportunity to display his skill as an athlete. But, alas! he was left hanging to a bough from which he had broken a branch, and came to the ground again, with a gaping slit in his sleeve.

It was a course full of adventure. The two young wanderers cheerfully breasted the storm, laughed brightly when a gust of wind tore through the trees, and sprinkled them freshly and heavily with rain, ever good-humoredly they jumped and climbed over stones and stumps and prostrate trunks of trees, always the better pleased the more impassable proved the woods. There was an endless laughing and talking, questioning and answering. All the old memories of childhood and youth came trooping back as lively as ever. Gray mist was hovering closely over the fir-trees, and dark clouds chased each other across the sky, but over these two children of men arched the clear sunshine of youth and happiness. What cared they for wind and weather!

At last the Odensburg park was reached, that almost immediately adjoined the wooded mountain. Maia was just going up to the little wicket-gate, through which she had gone out of bounds a few hours ago, when it was suddenly opened and Oscar von Wildenrod excitedly confronted her.

"But, Maia, how could you go out alone in such weather–?" He suddenly broke off, and with marked surprise looked up and down her escort, of whom he had just caught sight.

Maia, who had again drawn her hood over her head and hung her ruined hat on her arm, laughed defiantly. "You thought, did you, that Puck and I would have been drowned in that water-spout. No, here we both are, safe and sound, and have even found company on the way. I believe you gentlemen are not acquainted. Count Victor von Eckardstein–Baron von Wildenrod, a connection of my brother Eric."

Wildenrod responded with a certain reserve to the friendly greeting of the stranger, who said laughingly:

"I am glad to make your acquaintance, Baron, although you find me in this soaked condition. I am accustomed to be drier, I assure you, but really I was not prepared for an introduction to-day. I only meant to escort Fräulein Dernburg to the park-gate and then take my leave."

"Will you not stop long enough to see Papa and Eric?" asked Maia.

"No, no, Fräulein Dernburg, I should not like to appear before the Dernburg family in such attire as this. But I am coming very soon–if I may!"

As he spoke these last words, his eyes sought those of the young girl, who coquettishly said: "Are you afraid that I shall forbid it you?"

"Who knows? Water-sprites and dryads do not agree, I had to hear a while ago from your own mouth. Nevertheless, I shall venture it. Meanwhile, I beg of you to accept this token of peace from me. You know how hardly it has been obtained." With a slight bow he handed her the blossom-laden bough, that he still carried in his hand.

Wildenrod listened silently, but he gazed fixedly upon the pair. The tone of familiarity seemed to surprise him in the highest degree, and upon the Count's now taking his leave, he only bowed his head with cool civility, spoke a few words just as coolly, and then quickly followed Maia into the park, letting the wicket gate slam to behind them.

"You seem to be very well acquainted with that gentleman," he remarked, while they struck into the path leading to the house.

"Oh, certainly," answered his companion, without the least embarrassment. "Count Victor used to be a playmate of Eric's, when they were boys, and he used often enough to let me join in their sports. I was very glad to meet him again after the lapse of six years."

"Ah, indeed!" said the Baron slowly. He turned around, and with a peculiar glance scanned the form of the Count, who was just disappearing between the trees, while Maia innocently chatted on:

"If I can only slip into my own room unobserved–Papa will be angry if he sees me."

"Yes, indeed, he will scold," said Wildenrod with emphasis, "and I should like to do the same. I had gone into the park to look for you when that storm burst forth, and I heard from the gardener that you had already been for an hour somewhere in the woods. How imprudent! Did you not think how uneasy the people at home would be about you?–that I would be distressing myself?"

The reproachful tone of this question called a bright blush to the young girl's face. "Oh, that was altogether uncalled for. Here in Odensburg every workman and child knows me."

"Never mind, you should never again venture forth so far without attendance. You promise me this, do you not, Maia? And as a pledge that you will keep your word, I ask this of you."

As though in sport, he caught at the blooming branch, but Maia looked at him, half-shocked and half-indignant.

"My branch? No, why?"

"Because I ask you for it."

The request sounded like a demand, and this must have awakened Maia's pride. With a decided gesture of repulse, she drew back a step.

"No, Herr von Wildenrod. I'll not give up my blossoms."

A flash of angry surprise shot from the Baron's eyes: he had not believed the child capable of such decided opposition to his will, and it was precisely this that goaded him into having his way, at any price.

"Do you attach so great value to it?" he asked, with bitter scorn. "The Count seemed to do so too. Perhaps this 'pledge of peace' has some secret significance for you both?"

"A jest, nothing more! Victor is an old playmate–"

"And I am a stranger to you! Is that what you would say, Maia? I understand."

At these words, spoken with intense bitterness, the brown eyes were lifted to his in a shocked and pleading manner. "Oh, no, Herr Von Wildenrod, I did not mean that–Oh, certainly not."

"No? And yet you speak of 'Victor' and immediately grant him a renewal of the former familiar relations. I have been, and still am, nothing to you but 'Herr Von Wildenrod.' How often have I begged you to call me by my first name, just for once. I have never yet heard it from your lips."

Maia gave no reply, there she stood motionless, with glowing cheeks and downcast eyes; but still she felt the fervent glance that rested upon her.

"Is it so hard for you to give me a name, that the future family connection has nevertheless the right to claim? Is it really so hard? Well, I will be content to forego my claim when others are present, but now, that we are alone, I must and shall hear it … Maia!"

The delay of another second, and then it came, softly and tremblingly, from her lips: "Oscar!"

A gleam of transporting joy lighted up the man's dark features, and he made an impetuous movement, as though he would draw to his heart the young girl who stood before him, shy and trembling. But he controlled himself; only he seized and clasped firmly her quivering little hand.

"At last! And now that other, the second request."

"Herr Von Wildenrod–"

"The branch, Maia, which another gave to you, and which I, therefore, will not leave in your hands. Please give it to me?"

Maia resisted no longer. Powerless beneath the ban of those eyes and that voice, she held out to him the blooming bough.

"Thanks!" said Oscar softly. It was only a single word, but it had the sound of tenderness with difficulty restrained.

Now Miss Friedberg was seen at the open window of the house, which the two were now approaching, and, with clasped hands, she expressed her horror at seeing her pupil in such a plight.

"Maia, for heaven's sake tell me, have you actually been abroad in this weather? How you do look! Be quick, take off that wet mantle–you will catch your death of cold!"

"Yes, I should give her the same advice," said Oscar, smiling. "Quick, quick, go in the house!"

The girl slipped off with a passing nod. Wildenrod slowly followed her, but stood still in the garden-hall, and his brow darkened again as he looked at the blossom-laden bough in his hand. For the first time he realized that the success of his wooing might be imperiled by delay, and yet he knew that he durst not speak as yet. He did not yet stand firm enough in the favor of Dernburg, who could hardly be brought to give up his darling to a man so much older than herself, without further inducement, nor was he as yet sure even of Maia. An unwise word here, spoken prematurely, might spoil everything. And just at this crisis had to start up most provokingly this Count Eckardstein, who had lost not a minute's time in laying claim to his old footing of the familiar friend of childish days!

For a few moments Wildenrod stood lost in dark forebodings, then he drew himself up with a jerk, and in his eyes again flamed proud, triumphant self-confidence. Good–Maia was not to be won without a struggle–he was not the one to shun it. How pusillanimous, to doubt gaining the victory over that young coxcomb with his smooth face! Let him beware of crossing his path!

At the window of her own room stood Maia, who had not yet laid off her wet mantle, nor was even conscious that she still wore it. She gazed up at the cloud-beleaguered sky, with a strange dreamy look upon her face, and a slight, happy smile played about her lips.

Forgotten was the meeting in the forest-lodge, banished the form of her old playmate–she only saw one thing–those deep, dark eyes, the look that had woven such a spell upon her spirit, she only heard that subdued voice, thrilling with restrained passion. It was a sweet, disturbing dream,–a feeling, of which she did not herself know whether it portended woe or bliss.

CHAPTER IX.

THE CROSS ON THE WHITE STONE

Spring had fully come. Through storm and cold, through frost and fog, it had victoriously fought its way through, and awakened the earth everywhere to a new and sunny life.

A solitary wanderer was vigorously climbing upward through the green woods. It was still early in the day: the forest still-rested in deep bluish gray shadow, while heavy and moist lay the dew upon the mossy ground. Only the voices of individual birds sounded through the stillness of morning, and the tree-tops rustled and sighed as they bowed before the wind.

Egbert Runeck was on his way to the Whitestone, wanting to keep his word and examine the condition of the cross up there himself. Now he emerged from the woods, coming out upon a small elevated plateau, while just in front of him towered the mighty wall of cliff. Naked and steep it reared its crest above the dark fir-trees that fringed its base. The whole upper part was wildly cleft and riven, here only a few dwarf pines and stunted bushes were rooted in the fissures. From the summit a gigantic cross was visible to a great distance, identifying the mountain for all beholders.

That high, solitary peak played a chief part in the legends of the region round about. Already its name was linked with the world of fairies and elves that once had their mysterious being in these mountain-forests, and still survived in the superstitions of the people. The Whitestone concealed buried treasures, that, slumbering deep within its rock-bound caves, waited for release, and already many a one had paid the penalty of death for meddling with its secrets. Only the almighty Springwürzel1 opens these locked-up depths.

"He takes from night and darknessTheir treasures, hidden deep,And he those jewels sparklingAnd all that gold may keep."

How strange! Those words kept ringing in the ears of the man who stood on the edge of the mountain-meadow. It was the last stanza of an old popular ballad, that he too had been familiar with in childhood, but had long since forgotten. For him there were no longer hidden treasures, for him the depths were empty and dead, and yet that song kept ringing incessantly in his soul, but rather the voice from which he had last heard it. He hated at the bottom of his heart that beautiful syren who had ensnared by her wiles the friend of his youth, and now was to be mistress of Odensburg, but he could not rid himself of the entrancing sound of that voice, of the demoniacal charm of those eyes, and no labor, no exertion of will-power availed for his deliverance.

He crossed, over the mountain meadow, and, looking up, scrutinized the Whitestone. The weight of the winter's snows and the latest storms of spring might very well have shaken its foundations, and yet it seemed to stand firm and sure. But suddenly Egbert started, his foot seemed rooted to the spot, while his gaze clung spell-bound, to the top of the peak. Something was stirring up yonder; he saw the outlines of a bright form, that were clearly defined–his sharp eye recognized them in spite of the distance.

It had been no mere boast then, no passing whim, the madcap had really undertaken the adventure, and, undertaken it alone, as it seemed! Egbert's brow contracted, yet, for him to retrace his steps was not to be thought of–he, too, had almost certainly been already seen. He grasped his staff, then, and slowly began to climb.

The path that from here upward led to the crag certainly required a steady head and a fearless heart. It was a sort of hunter's track, that wound along close to the steep precipice, and the view of the awful depths below was always left open. At times it would vanish entirely, and then one would be forced to look out a path for himself, until the beaten track after a while again became visible.

The young engineer had lost the imperturbable coolness, with which he usually accomplished such a climb, often he stopped, his foot slipped, and he had consumed much more time than usual when he finally reached the top. There before him stood Cecilia Wildenrod, flooded by the bright light of morning, radiant in beauty and overweening pride.

"See there, Herr Runeck, we meet on the summit of the Whitestone! You have taken your time for the climb–I came faster!"

"I know the danger of the way," answered Egbert, composedly, "and therefore do not challenge it."

"Danger? I did not think of that! You thought I would not dare to follow this path, or, at best give up and go back in five minutes. What say you now?"

She gave him a challenging glance,–now, at last, a word of admiration must come from those stern lips! But there came only the cool counter-question:

"Do they know of your expedition at Odensburg, noble lady?"

"Why, no!" cried the young lady laughing. "Then they would have confined me to the house or at least set a guard over my going out and coming in. I set off this morning betimes, while they were all asleep, slipped away secretly, had the horses hitched up and drove to Crownwood. From there the road can hardly be missed, and, you see I have found it."

"Alone? That was more than incautious! If you had made a false step, if you had fallen, no help was at hand and then–"

"Dear me? Do not you begin to preach at me," interrupted she impatiently. "I shall hear enough of lectures when I get back to Odensburg."

"I have neither the purpose nor the right to preach to you, Fräulein von Wildenrod, that is for Eric to do, if any one."

"And he is the very last from whom I would take it."

"What, not from your future husband?"

"Just on that very account. I have made up my mind to rule in the establishment."

"That would not be hard to do in this case, Eric is of a gentle, yielding temper. He will never try to resist you."

"Resist?" repeated Cecilia, provoked and amused at the same time. "You seem to consider our marriage as on a war-basis–a flattering compliment to me."

"I beg pardon, if I now inspect the cross," said Egbert, interrupting the Baroness. "I came up here, solely on that account, you know. The thing is to hinder the possibility of an accident, the results of which might be fatal."

Cecilia bit her lip at this rejection of the confidential tone, which she had found good to adopt, and an angry glance was hurled at the man who dared to treat her thus.

Cecilia looked silently on as Runeck proceeded to the cross, which stood on the extreme verge of the precipice upon the side facing the valley, and tested it. He did this thoroughly and scientifically, and probably ten minutes elapsed ere he turned around again.

"Those gentlemen were mistaken," said he quietly. "The cross is standing perfectly firm and secure, and there is no fear of its falling. Perhaps you will have the goodness to report this at Odensburg. I shall not get there until day after to-morrow, and I take it for granted that you have no idea of making a secret of your adventure."

"On the contrary, I am fully purposed to boast freely of it. Do not look so astounded, Herr Runeck. You see this lace veil does not exactly belong to my tourist's equipment: I have brought it with me on purpose to prove that I really have been on the top of the Whitestone. I could have no idea that I should meet you here, and did not therefore calculate upon having your testimony to the feat." And so saying Cecilia loosened the white veil, that was flung loosely around her shoulder and waist, and advanced towards the cross.

"What are you going to do with it?" asked Egbert, looking after her in surprise.

"I have already told you,–to leave behind, a token, so that they may believe at Odensburg, that I actually performed the achievement. My veil is to wave from the cross yonder."

"For what? It is rashness, foolhardiness! Come back, please!"

His call sounded commanding, frenzied, but Cecilia paid no heed to it. Standing immediately on the verge of the precipice, she flung her veil around the cross. It was an agonizing spectacle–one single incautious movement, and she would lie crushed at the base.

"Fräulein von Wildenrod, come back! I implore you!" The voice of the young engineer was muffled and full of emotion. He seemed to suffer the agonies of a life-time in that moment.

Cecilia turned around and smiled. "Can you really beg, Herr Runeck? I am coming directly, only one more look into that chasm, which has its fascination for me." And, with her arm slung around the cross, she actually bent over the abruptly precipitous wall of rock, and looked fearlessly down.

Egbert involuntarily took one step forward, his arm quivered, as though he would drag her away by force from her dangerous position. He did not, however, but every drop of blood seemed to have left his face, when she finally left her place and came to him again.

"Do you believe now in my fearlessness?" she asked, tauntingly.

"That rash sport was really not necessary to convince me of it," said he harshly, and yet he drew a sigh of relief, when he once more saw the foolhardy girl on firm ground. "A misstep on that spot and you would have been lost!"

She recklessly shrugged her shoulders. "I never get dizzy, and just wanted for once to feel that deliciously thrilling sensation of standing up there, close over the precipice. One feels something like a demoniacal drawing to the bottom, it is as though one must rush to destruction, whether or no. Have you ever felt anything like it?"

"No," said Egbert coldly. "One must have a great deal of–time, to indulge themselves in such feelings."

"Which you deem objectionable."

"Unhealthy, to say the least. He who needs his life for work, knows how to prize it, and risks it only at the call of duty."

This reproof sounded very rude, and if it had come from the lips of any other person, Cecilia would probably have turned her back upon the "insolent creature," in silent contempt. Here she said nothing, for a minute perhaps, and at the same time scanned the sunburnt countenance of the young man, that had not by any means recovered its color as yet. Then she smiled again. "Thanks for the lesson. We just do not understand one another, Herr Runeck."

"I have told you so already–we belong to two different worlds–"

"And yet we stand so near together on the narrow space furnished by Whitestone's crest," mocked Cecilia. "As for the rest, I have enjoyed this unique pleasure long enough. I must go down now."

"Then permit me to attend you! The descent is far more dangerous than the ascent, and I could not answer to Erie for letting you go alone."

"To Eric? That indeed!" Her lips curled haughtily at the mention of her betrothed; then she cast a look up at the cross, where the loose hanging ends of the veil were fluttering in the morning breeze.

"That old weather-beaten cross has never been dressed up so before! I present it to the guardian spirits of the Whitestone; may be, out of gratitude, they will open their caverns to me and give me a sight of their buried treasures."