A Hero of the Pen

"Is Miss Forest at home?"

"No."

"And Doctor and Mrs. Stephen?"

"They, too, have gone out."

"Are they expected back soon?"

"Every minute."

"Then we shall do better to wait here in the garden than to go back to the hotel," said Atkins. "Frederic, announce our arrival to the family immediately upon their return."

Frederic gazed after the retiring gentleman with open displeasure. "And here is another! This makes the third who has come. These American guests will at last drive us out of house and home. I wish"–His further mutterings were lost in the closing of the door which he had shut with such violence that the window panes rattled.

"What is the matter with the fellow?" asked Alison, as they entered the garden, "he gave us a very singular reception."

Atkins laughed. "A German bear, gigantic, snappish, awkward, into whose wooden head a sort of national antipathy against us seems to have entered. I cannot boast of having seen anything but this bearish manner in him, although to others he is harmless and good natured, even to stupidity."

"Is he a servant out of the house?"

"Not exactly, he is in the employ of a–Ah, Professor Fernow!" exclaimed Atkins suddenly interrupting himself, "I am delighted to see you!"

The professor, who was just returning from the university, and had, as usual, taken the path through the garden, returned the salutation and drew nearer.

"How do you do, Professor Fernow?" asked Atkins patronizingly. "You look ill; that comes from your learning! Will you permit me to introduce you to a countryman of mine? Mr. Alison, Mr. Fernow, professor in the university, and inmate of Doctor Stephen's house."

Countryman! Inmate of the doctor's house! These were two very indifferent, commonplace designations, upon which Atkins had not laid the slightest emphasis, and still they appeared to strike both young men in the same way. Alison's dark glance, with a suddenly awakened suspicion, fixed itself sharply and searchingly upon the professor's face, and Fernow's blue eyes flamed up in painful excitement, as he returned the glance with unwonted spirit. It was as if both in this, the first moment of their meeting, had a presentiment of hostile relations hereafter. Each bowed coldly and haughtily, as if an invisible barrier already lay between them.

CHAPTER VI.

A Strange Presentiment

Atkins, with his wonted vivacity, sought to introduce a conversation, but he did not succeed. For all that was said to him, Alison had a cold, polite assent; and the professor, even more reticent than usual, seized the first opportunity to take refuge in the house. After a few minutes, in his timid, courteous way, he took leave of the elderly American, bowed silently and distantly to his young companion, and left the two alone.

"Who is this Fernow?" asked Alison when the Professor was out of hearing.

"I have already told you. Professor in the university here, a shining light of science, a precious example of a German scholar, who with his investigations, and thousand-year-old rubbish and hieroglyphics, devotes himself to the good of humanity, and meantime withers up into a mummy. A very well conducted, blameless specimen besides, who made himself supremely comic in the role of knight and protector which he assumed towards Miss Jane on the day of our arrival."

Alison, who had been gazing after the professor, now turned suddenly around.

"Towards Miss Forest?" he asked hastily. "But personally not her sole protector? It is to be hoped that you were present."

"Not at all! Our carriage broke, out on a suburban road; it rained in torrents, I had to remain behind with injured postilion, and was glad to consign Jane to the protection of the first gentleman who offered; in this case it was Professor Fernow, who was passing our tragic group, and to whom his learning had at last left sense enough to take the lady entrusted to him safely to B."

"Ah!" said Alison sharply. "And this adventure has naturally led to a more intimate acquaintanceship between the two, who, being inmates of the same house, meet and converse daily?"

For a moment, Atkins gazed at him in astonishment, then burst into a loud laugh.

"Henry, I really believe you are jealous! Jealous of this consumptive professor! Do you know what it means to be at thirty years invested with a professorship in a German university, with its horrible scientific thoroughness?–and he is not yet thirty! It takes a prodigy of learning for such a place! A man who devotes himself body and soul to his books, and knows nothing of the clear light of day. Really, you do the poor professor a cruel wrong if you believe that anything not bound in calf, exists for him; and as Miss Jane does not enjoy that enviable distinction, she unfortunately has no claim to his approval."

Alison paid no attention to this irony. "Does Miss Forest often converse with him?" he asked impatiently.

"Not at all! At least when I am present, they both seem to have lost the gift of speech, so dumbly do they pass each other by. I implore you, Henry, not to insult the taste of your betrothed in this way! Where is your self-esteem? Do you really place yourself on a level with this bookworm?"

Alison's brow began to clear. "You are right, it would be ridiculous. At home I had to enter the list with many wooers of Miss Forest, and there were no despicable rivals among them. But I had no fear at sight of this consumptive professor, as you call him. I had a sort of presentiment that he might become dangerous to me."

"A presentiment!" echoed Atkins with a growl. "For Heaven's sake, Henry, don't begin to have presentiments! This is one of the German sensations. They never really reckon, they have all sorts of presentiments. And you, too, are not going to fall into this nonsense?"

Before Alison could reply, they were interrupted; a young servant girl appeared to announce the arrival of the lady of the house and Miss Forest, and to invite the gentlemen in.

Jane, with her usual self-importance, had kept her engagement secret from her relatives, and the betrothed pair met as strangers.

CHAPTER VII.

Lovers, Yet Strangers

Five months had passed since Alison had seen Jane for the last time, in the elegant reception-room of her father's house, in an elegant toilet; now the tall figure came to meet him in a dark mourning dress, in the centre of the old-fashioned, simply-furnished apartment, which here served as the reception-room. Was it the contrast or the long separation? He had never seen her so beautiful.

"Pardon me, Miss Forest, for coming to visit you on my travels. Mr. Atkins assured me I should meet a kindly reception."

Jane reached him her hand. "A countryman is always welcome." Her glance met his; there was a wordless greeting; the only one between them; otherwise no token, not even the slightest, betrayed that here was a pair of betrothed lovers, who met after a half year's separation. Both had too much control over their features, were too much accustomed to conventional barriers, to betray a relation not yet designed for publicity.

Jane turned to her aunt, and presented "Mr. Alison, a friend of our family?" Frau Stephen bowed; she could not understand the confidence and independence with which her niece received and dismissed strange gentlemen, this girl of twenty years, who, in her opinion, should still take refuge under her aunt's maternal wing, and at the most, only now and then venture a timid remark. Jane, had simply transposed matters, and assigned her aunt the silent rule. This by no means timid old lady had begun to be wholly controlled by the influence of her niece; she now remained passive and overwhelmed by a feeling of her entire inconsequence.

Alison had seated himself opposite the ladies. They spoke of his travels, of England and France, of the Rhine; but Henry's conversational powers were not brilliant. He waited from minute to minute, and with ever increasing impatience, for Atkins to give him an opportunity to be alone with Jane, but Atkins appeared to feel a lively satisfaction in his repressed vexation, and opened out the conversation to seemingly endless limits. The young American was not the man to be trifled with in this way; as no one came to his aid, he himself seized the helm, and simply requested Miss Forest to allow him to give over to her the letters and tidings from home which were designed for her alone.

Jane arose, and with a hasty apology to her aunt, conducted the young gentleman into the sitting-room adjoining the reception-parlor, leaving Mr. Atkins to console the old lady for this new American freedom. Scarce had the door closed behind them, when Alison stepped up to her, and with a powerfully repressed, but still impassioned gesture, took her hand in his.

"Pardon me Jane, for resorting to this awkward device! I could bear the suspense no longer."

He held closely the beautiful, cold hand which as before lay unresisting in his, but did not return its pressure.

"You should have chosen some less transparent device, Henry! Mr. Atkins would, sooner or later, have found an excuse for leaving us alone. It would of necessity have occurred to my aunt that we would prefer to speak of home matters by ourselves."

This cool reply somewhat restrained Alison's ardor. "You seem very much to fear lest Doctor Stephen may gain some knowledge of our mutual relations."

"I certainly hope that he will not."

"And still it cannot be avoided."

"I believe that remains alone with us, and so much the more so as your stay in B. is to be limited to a few days."

"Certainly! It does not appear that I have especial reasons for lengthening my visit."

Jane felt the thrust, and thought best to waive a subject that threatened to be dangerous.

"You will go to Paris? They are speaking of a possible war with France."

Alison shrugged his shoulders. "I do not believe in such a possibility, but should it come to that, I should naturally return to be at your side and conduct you home, if the French army overflowed the Rhine country and Germany."

"Do you really think that would happen?"

"Yes! Have you any other idea?"

Jane threw back her head with a defiant gesture. "And yet, I think we should know how to defend our Rhine!"

"We? Our Rhine?" repeated Alison sharply. "I thought, Miss Forest, that hitherto it had been your pride and your glory to call yourself a daughter of that country to which you belong in all things–save the first brief days of your infancy."

Jane bit her lips so passionately, that a slight drop of blood came from them. Who bade these unwary lips even here repeat a reminiscence that would not vanish from her memory? 'We? Our Rhine?' These were indeed not her own words, and the remembrance of that moment when she had heard them so glowing, so inspired, from another's mouth, involuntarily sent a deep flush to her face. She turned hastily away, and bent over the flowers standing in the window.

Alison regarded her silently, but, intently and persistently. "It seems that you have already imbibed German sympathies," he said at last.

"I?" With a half-angry movement, Jane turned to him. "You err, Henry! I feel myself, even here circumscribed, exasperated. My stay here is a daily and hourly sacrifice! It is scarcely endurable."

In spite of her self-control, there was a peculiar emotion in her voice, and this did not escape Alison, who had always seen her so cold; but he interpreted it falsely; his eyes suddenly lighted up with a deep, inward satisfaction; he stepped close to her and again took her hand.

"Well then, Jane, it lies in your power to shorten this sacrificial period. Give me now the right you were to confer upon me after a year's delay, and you fulfil my highest wish. In a few weeks the necessary formalities might be arranged, and we could pursue together our continental travels; or, if you wished, I would at once take you back to America."

"No, Henry, no! that is impossible!"

Alison let her hand fall, and morosely stepped back, "Impossible!" repeated he cuttingly.

"And why so?"

Jane might well feel that her almost violent refusal rendered an explanation necessary.

"I am still in mourning for my father!" she said gently, "and in this entire matter I simply follow his arrangements and his wishes."

"It was your wish, Jane, not Mr. Forest's, I understood, that, in the presence of a dying father, you did not wish to be a bride; and it was my own journey which so long deferred the time fixed upon for our union. The one reason exists no longer; and destiny, which after months of separation, has now united us, has done away with the other. If, during your year of mourning, you do not wish to marry, so be it. I will not urge you, but I implore, I demand that you no longer veil our mutual relations in this profound secrecy; that you publicly acknowledge yourself my betrothed, and give me the right to visit you as your accepted suitor in the house of your relatives."

CHAPTER VIII.

The Heiress at Bay

There was such energy in his manner, such determination in his just demand, that evasion seemed impossible, and any other young lady would scarce have attempted it; but Alison forgot that Jane–was quite a match for him, that her energy was quite equal to his, and that this tone was least of all designed to incline her to obedience. This "I demand," sounded very strange and harsh in the ears of the proud girl. It called forth all her obstinacy.

"You forget, Mr. Alison, that the time has not yet come for you to 'demand,'" she said coldly. "I have imposed upon you a condition which you promised to fulfil; the reason therefor, now as then, rests solely in my judgment. I do not release you from your promise. I will not!"

The young lady's entire strength of determination lay in this "I will not?" and it sounded just as defiant and provoking as those other words from her lips a few days before. Perhaps she wished to drive this man also to extremities; but here the effect was different.

Alison was for an instant silent. Had Jane been merely beautiful and not rich, the wounded self-esteem of this man would have perhaps called forth an answer, which, from the bluntness of both characters, must have led to an irreparable breach. But the young merchant knew how to count the cost; he would not give up this valuable possession for a woman's whim, and he well knew that here he could assert no authority. He yielded; but there was a portentous cloud on his forehead.

"You are as immovable and hard as a stone, Jane! Well, let it be as you wish, but"–his voice trembled in suppressed resentment–"but do not forget that I, too, have received a promise, and that at the appointed time, I will demand its fulfilment, inexorably as you have demanded mine."

Jane had become ashy pale, but her eyes met his firmly and undoubtedly. "My word is as good as my oath; I would break one as soon as the other," she said.

"And you repeat this oath to me now of your own free will?" His eyes were fixed searchingly upon her face. She seemed to hesitate for one moment, only one; then she laid her hand hastily in his. "I repeat it–of my own free will!"

Alison drew a deep breath, and pressed the hand ardently. "I thank you, Jane," he said. "In the spring I shall come back to demand my wife; until then, you are free as you have wished to be." A pause, oppressive for both, followed; Jane was the first to speak.

"I think we ought not to prolong this interview. It must be time to return to my aunt and Atkins."

Alison made no reply; he silently opened the door, and followed her into the next room, where Doctor Stephen had meantime appeared. The doctor's jovial vivacity which quite equalled Atkins' sarcasm, led the conversation into more agreeable channels.

"Well, how do you find Miss Jane?" asked Atkins, as half an hour later he withdrew with his young countryman.

"Greatly changed!" was the short morose answer.

Atkins looked vexed. "Foolishness! It is you who are changed, Henry! You have caught the spleen in England; it is time that merry Paris should be curing it."

Alison made no reply, he hastily reached Atkins his hand, and went.

CHAPTER IX.

On the Scent

Meantime Jane had sought her own room, whither Atkins now followed her. She advanced to meet him, and hastily, as if she would cut short any other topic which might be supposed to more nearly concern her, she asked; "Do you bring me tidings of your journey? I can imagine its success! It is sheer foolishness, like all else that has thus far been done!"

"It is not so this time!"

Jane gazed at him as if she did not trust her ears.

"What do you say?"

"We have a trace."

Jane trembled. "Of my brother?"

"Be calm, be calm, Miss Jane," said Atkins, coolly, as he laid a hand upon her arm. "The matter is in no way decided! A trace which appeared only to vanish immediately, and which leaves us only a weak prop for future investigation; that is at present the only result I can impart to you."

Miss Forest had already regained her self-possession. "Very well! It is the first sign of life and being. What have you discovered? How did you discover it?"

Atkins quietly drew her to the sofa, and sat down by her side.

"Moderate your impatience, Miss Jane. I will be brief and clear as possible; you may learn later the results. You know that as we passed through Hamburg I took all necessary steps, I notified the police, I advertised in the public journals; but as usual in such cases, no answer came. Four weeks after, at your request, I returned to Hamburg to convince myself personally, of the hopelessness of our efforts. The first days of my stay, this seemed to be the only result of my journey; but on the third, a sailor came to see me."

"A sailor?" repeated Jane in astonishment.

"Yes, he had just landed, and had accidentally seen my advertisement. He came to tell me that twenty years before, some neighbors of his parents, poor fishermen who lived in a little village on the coast of the North Sea, coming from Hamburg, where they had been to market, had brought with them a boy they had found there, had kept him and reared him with their own son. The man's statement was so positive that it induced me to pay him the reward offered, and to write at once to the designated place."

Jane had listened with passionate intentness.

"And you have received an answer?"

"Yes, an answer with the minutest details. You will yourself read the letter, it has convinced me that this boy was really our young master Forest. The date, the age, the incidental descriptions, all agree with my advertisement. The failure of our investigations hitherto is easily explained. With the usual indiscretion of such people, instead of notifying the authorities of their discovery of the lost child, these fishermen calmly waited for some person to claim him sooner or later, and meantime, adopted him as their own. To that wretched, sandy fishing-hamlet, shut out from all the world, a newspaper scarce ever penetrates, this accounts for the failure of Doctor Stephen's efforts to find the child."

"Well, what about these people?" interrupted Jane, with eager impatience.

"They are dead! They died a few years after, and as their poor neighbors could and would not be burdened with the care and support of the two boys, the fisherman's son was sent to a relative, an artisan in a small North-German town, and young master Forest was received into the house of a clergyman in one of the adjoining villages; but years ago he gave up his parish and left that region. Here ends the letter, and my investigations for the present."

With a deep sigh, Jane arose. Discouraging as were these last words, it required only the slightest hint of her brother's possible existence, to arouse all her energies to action. In one minute she had reviewed all, had mastered the whole situation with her wonted clear-sightedness and promptness.

"We must above all things ascertain the abode of this clergyman, and in order to do this we must make inquiries in his former parish. If he is not to be found, then we must extend our inquiries to the mechanic who adopted the other boy; perhaps he still keeps up some sort of correspondence with his youthful associate. In any event, we must quickly and decidedly follow the clue we had scarce hoped to find."

"That is my opinion. I only wished to advise with you in regard to the necessary proceedings. But one thing more! I have at your express wish, thus far, kept all this from Mr. Alison; he has no suspicion of the possible existence of a brother-in-law. Is it not time now to confide it to him?"

"No!" said Jane, almost roughly. "Not until we are sure. We could expect from him neither assistance nor gratification in efforts which would possibly deprive him of half the fortune upon which he reckons."

CHAPTER X.

FOR VALUE RECEIVED

The strange tone of her voice was remarked by Atkins. "What has occurred between you and Henry? He, too, was out of humor. Have you had a quarrel?"

"Yes," said Jane with sullen frankness, "I offended him."

"And he?"

"He?" The young girl's lips curled in scorn. "Well, he bore it."

Atkins frowned. "Have a care, Jane!–Alison is not the man to forgive an insult, least of all from you. He may have borne it for the moment, but he will never forget it, and you may have to atone for it at some future day. I know him!"

"And so do I! Have no anxiety, Mr. Atkins, I do not fear this sort of revenge, neither do I care for it!"

"Avoid that tone, Miss Jane, at least in speaking of him. You might drive him to break his troth."

"Hardly! Mr. Alison too well knows my value to him."

Atkins shook his head. He had never before seen his ward thus. "You know as well as I, that Alison loves you in spite of all, and would have loved you without your fortune," he said.

"And would have chosen me?"

He was silent.

"Spare your championship!" said Jane bitterly. "I know to what considerations I shall alone owe the honor of one day being called Mrs. Alison!"

Atkins fixed his keen glance upon her for a moment. "And is this anything new to you?" he asked deliberately. "Did you not know this just as well as now when, five months ago you promised him your hand? and this promise which the heir and future head of the house of Alison and Company then received"–he laid a marked emphasis upon the words–"would it have been given him if he had, for example, held there the modest position of clerk?"

The thrust took effect, for a moment, as if conscious of guilt, Jane lowered her head; the words with which she had announced her betrothal to her father came back to her remembrance. At that time all this had appeared simple and natural; now, indeed, five months had come and gone, five months and–three days!

"You see," continued Atkins cuttingly and relentlessly, "that the dollar also played its role with you, and why not? Mr. Forest educated you into sensible conceptions of life and its realities. Love is a luxury,–which the rich only can allow themselves–and Alison allowed it in his choice. But one must not fall so deeply in love as to forget one's reckoning, which is still the main thing in life."

"In America–yes!" said Jane in a hollow voice.

Atkins shrugged his shoulders. "In Germany there certainly may be extravagantly sentimental heads, that would have no regard at all for a million, and are in a position to unhesitatingly turn their backs to an heiress, if they happen to be not quite pleased with her. Will you reproach Mr. Alison, because he knows better how to estimate such advantages? Those gentlemen in their exalted manly pride may appear very magnanimous, but–they will never become millionaires."

"You are right," said Jane hastily, and in a voice of icy coldness. "To every one his own."

Atkins gazed at her as if he did not really know what the answer meant. She had again become thoroughly Miss Forest in her impenetrable repose, as she now stood before him, and yet, there had been a tone of irony in her words. But it was a useless endeavor to seek to solve the enigma to-day; he gave it up.

Rising at the same time, he took a letter-case from his pocket and reached it to her. "We have arrived at the main thing," he said. "Here you find the letter I have mentioned, and all the other notices; examine them critically. This evening I will consult farther with you; now, I must leave you."