The Eichhofs: A Romance

Alma had not noticed Walter's increase of gravity; what she did observe at this moment was the arrival before the hall door of Lothar's travelling-carriage.

She looked anxiously towards the door through which Lothar entered to take his leave, just as the Countesses Eichhof returned from their walk. Judging from the countenance of each, their tête-à-tête had not been of a very edifying nature. Bernhard and Walter also made their appearance, and were quite in harmony with the rest of the party, for they looked irritated and discontented.

"Good-morning to some and good-by to others, in most admired confusion," said Adela, offering her hand right and left, and exchanging greetings and farewells, until Lothar's carriage had carried him away.

The Countess wiped her eyes with her lace handkerchief, and pitied in one breath her "dear Lothar, who is such a fine fellow after all," and her "beloved Bernhard, who has so much worry and vexation on his brother's account." And finally she clasped Walter in her arms, declaring that he would never be anything but a blessing and comfort to every one. Whereupon Bernhard instantly left the room, closing the door after him with unnecessary violence, whilst Walter looked the picture of dejection.

"Ah! all joy has fled from this household," sighed the Countess, with a reproachful glance towards her daughter-in-law, who was silently bending over her embroidery-frame.

"Upon my word," whispered Adela to her friend, who looked quite cast down by Lothar's sudden departure, "it is too terrible here to-day. If you do not want me to order round my carriage instantly, ask Walter to take a walk with us."

"He does not look as if he wanted to take a walk."

"No matter; ask him, or I will go immediately."

Walter made no objection to going, and the three young people left the bow-windowed room. Thea looked after them with entreaty in her eyes, as though to detain them, but they paid her no heed, and she turned again to her work with a resigned face, resolved to endure in silence the further unavoidable tête-à-tête with her mother-in-law.

It was not destined, however, to last long on this occasion, for in a very few minutes Herr von Rosen's light wagon drove up; he had come for his daughter Alma. Thea hastened to meet him, and brought him in triumph into the room, which was instantly illumined as by sunlight by the old man's genial smile, the brightness of which called forth a pale reflection even on the old Countess's sad face. No human being could remain unresponsive to Herr von Rosen's cordiality. It was so easy to see that his kindliness was not the result of conventional habit, but was due to the genuine warmth of a noble heart, that it cheered and refreshed every one around him.

"I knew that I should find you here," he said, turning to the old Countess, "for I stopped on my way hither at your cottage, and they told me you were at Eichhof. You have planted new shrubberies around the house, I see, and the balcony is an immense improvement. The old house will soon be a charming little retreat."

"Indeed, did you really think it pretty?" asked the Countess. "Good heavens, it is so plain and simple!"

"I think it charming; and if you find it too quiet, why, you always have Eichhof, you know. I am so glad to think of you so near here, for my wife is, as you know, too much of an invalid to drive out very often, and my dear little daughter will often need counsel and aid in her new sphere of life. She has learned something already, however, for her manner of receiving her guests at her last small dinner reminded me a little of old times at Eichhof. I was proud of you, my little Thea, and I was sincerely grateful to you for your influence over her, my dear Countess."

Herr von Rosen put his arm around his daughter's waist, and his frank blue eyes as he looked at her were full of affection. For the first time to-day the old Countess really smiled, and also looked kindly at her daughter-in-law.

Scarcely, however, had Herr von Rosen succeeded in banishing the clouds from the brows of the ladies, when Bernhard entered with the threatening of a positive tempest in his face.

"I am very glad to see you to-day, sir," he said, as, after greeting his father-in-law, he seated himself beside him. "I have arranged Lothar's affairs after the manner you advised; they are all right: but now it is Walter's turn."

"Walter? Surely the boy has no debts?"

"No; but I almost wish he had, for then I should know what to do, inconvenient as it might be for me just at present."

"Good heavens!" exclaimed the old Countess, "what is the matter now?"

"You must be told of it, mother, and perhaps there is no better time than the present for the telling. Walter has gone back to his insane idea of last year, – in fact, he seems never to have really relinquished it, – and he has been attending medical lectures in addition to those upon jurisprudence. He insists that he shall never be worth anything unless he pursues the study of medicine."

"Impossible!" exclaimed his mother. "I never will give my consent to so crazy a scheme. Besides, my cousin the ambassador has promised him a position."

Bernhard made an impatient gesture with his hand. "You know, mother, that we have already discussed this matter," he said, "and you know that I have given up all thoughts of a diplomatic future for Walter, because such a career requires an independent fortune, far larger than any I could give him. My plan was that he should first become an assessor, and then a provincial judge somewhere in the country. Thus he would become entirely independent-"

"But not before many years, and in the mean time he would be called 'Assessor' and 'Circuit Judge,'" moaned the Countess. "You cannot seriously entertain the idea of your brother's being a circuit judge? He had better enter the army immediately. Oh, if he only had never studied anything!"

"The army would have been best, but it cannot be thought of now, and that is not the question at present; he insists upon studying medicine."

"Did you tell him it was entirely out of the question?"

"I told him my opinion on the subject, to which, however, he opposed his own. He declares that he has done his best conscientiously to comply with our father's wishes, and that it is upon his account alone that he has silently endured and struggled. He has, he says, been very unhappy, and is firmly convinced that he shall miss his vocation and live a useless life if he does conform to these wishes. In short, he said a great deal to me that sounds plausible enough, but that nevertheless does not alter the fact that this idea of his of studying medicine is insanely absurd. I told him that if he persisted in it I would not help him with a single penny, to which he replied that he had no intention of applying to me for assistance; he meant that his income of five hundred thalers should suffice for all his needs, and nothing would induce him to accept anything further from me. Of course after this we can have no more to do with each other. He declares that nothing I can say will have the least influence upon his determination, which is the result of mature deliberation, and that he does not want any aid from me. The case is clear, and a breach is unavoidable if Walter will not listen to reason. He values your opinion highly, sir, and I thought perhaps you would expostulate with him. I can do no more."

"Yes, yes, you must talk to him," said the Countess, wiping away her tears, while Thea looked eagerly at her father, quite undecided whether to side with Walter or with Bernhard.

"And what in the world can I say to him?" Herr von Rosen asked. "Certainly, from what I know of Walter, I judge it very unlikely that he should arrive at any over-hasty conclusions, and I am not at all competent to overthrow in an hour a resolve that has been the result on his part of a year of struggle and endurance. Besides, if I did as you desire, it would be in opposition to my own conviction. Walter is subjected to the necessity of carving out his own fortunes, of winning his own means of subsistence. A hard task under all circumstances, why should we make it harder for him by forcing him to do what he positively dislikes? The beginnings of every career are arduous enough, and, since Walter does not possess sufficient means to surround himself with outward luxuries, it is surely natural that he should covet inward content. This he can find only in a calling in which he takes a genuine interest, to which he can cheerfully devote all his powers of mind."

"But how can he do that as a doctor?" wailed the Countess.

There was a slight smile upon Rosen's kindly face as he replied, "Your son probably wonders how he can do it as circuit judge. It is all a matter of taste and temperament."

"Oh, don't speak of a circuit judge! If he is to be nothing but that he may as well be a doctor." The Countess sighed heavily, and, putting her handkerchief to her eyes, again burst into tears.

"One is certainly as honourable a calling as the other," Rosen said, calmly.

Bernhard maintained a gloomy silence. Thea gazed at her father with eyes that understood and appreciated him. His view of the matter was new to her, but she agreed with him.

Fortunately, the young girls with Walter made their appearance at this moment, and the conversation was not prolonged before Adela. Countess Eichhof, finding it impossible to control her agitation, and with very vague ideas as to what really was Walter's intention, withdrew to bury with many tears her enchanting dream of Walter as an ambassador.

Adela, who found the air at Eichhof to-day not at all to her liking, ordered her carriage, and Walter and Alma accompanied her into the hall. "Oh, I forgot to bring down the book you lent me, Alma!" she exclaimed, standing on the lowest of the flight of steps. "No, Walter, you cannot get it; I left it in Alma's room."

Alma good-naturedly ran to fetch it, and Adela looked after her with a smile.

"I left it there on purpose," she said to Walter; "and I hid it a little, for I wanted to speak to you one moment alone."

Walter smiled at her small plot, though he shook his finger at her. "What have you to say to me?" he said, stepping close to her side.

"First, I want to know whether you are still my good friend."

Instead of replying, Walter took out her ring, which he wore on a ribbon around his neck, and kissed it.

Adela blushed.

"Put it away quickly," she said, with a shy glance around. "No one must know that you have it, for people are so stupid; too stupid! They could not understand. But what I really wanted to ask was why you are so terribly serious and quiet. Has anything gone particularly wrong?"

Adela's blue eyes were so near Walter's face that his breath stirred the curls upon her forehead, and she looked at him so earnestly and kindly that his cheek suddenly flushed, and the voice in which he answered her was rather unsteady. "I cannot explain it to you now, Adela. It is a long story, and everything seems to me to be going particularly wrong just now."

"But I am fairly dying with curiosity; tell me about it, quickly!" she exclaimed, impatiently.

He shook his head. "Not now; I will come to Rollin to-morrow."

"Ride through the park, then, and I will be waiting for you on the round white bench near the pond. Some one is always sure to interrupt us at the house, and you never will be able to finish your story. By the white bench, then, at eleven o'clock in the morning; I cannot possibly wait until the afternoon."

She had scarcely issued this ordre de bataille, which was given quite in the tone of a military commander, when Alma appeared with the book, and Fräulein Adela drove off, well satisfied with the success of her plot and with the prospect of Walter's visit.

CHAPTER X.

FOUND AND LOST

There was a misty green, betokening the coming spring, upon the bare boughs of the trees in the park at Rollin, and the little lake in its midst reflected the clear blue of the skies above it. Adela, seated on the white bench, near the water, was hardly aware either of the budding branches around her or of the gleaming mirror before her. Her thoughts were occupied with her expected visitor, and her hands and eyes with a beautiful brown greyhound that never seemed to tire of leaping to and fro over the riding-whip she held out for him.

"What will Walter tell me?" she thought. "Jump, Fidèle!" she called out to the dog, who had paused for a moment and looked dubiously at his mistress. "You are a good creature," she went on, stroking his handsome head, and again her thoughts flew to Walter. "Poor dear fellow, his eyes have so sad a look in them now; and indeed it is too uncomfortable in Eichhof. Thea really looks quite ill; she must be fairly bored to death. Come, Fidèle, you shall jump once more, and then I'll give you some sugar."

And the dog jumped again, and was fed with sugar, while his mistress began to think that Walter allowed himself to be waited for too long. Suddenly she sprang up. The sound of a horse's hoofs was audible, and in an instant Walter turned into the avenue of oaks that led to where she was sitting. Fidèle ran towards him, and leaped beside the horse barking his welcome, while Adela, in sudden and unexpected confusion, which she strove to hide behind an affectation of indifference, fixed her eyes upon the surface of the lake beyond the rider.

"Well," she said, when Walter, having tied his horse to a tree, stood beside her, "I have only just arrived. I nearly forgot our appointment."

"I should have been so sorry not to find you," he said, "for after our offensive and defensive alliance it would have pained me to leave Eichhof without telling you myself of what you will be sure to hear from others, coloured, probably, by their prejudices."

"Leave? You are going away? Where? You have only just come!" the girl exclaimed, evidently alarmed, and quite forgetting her part of indifference, as she drew Fidèle towards her and put her arms around his neck, as if craving some sympathy from him, while she looked up at Walter anxiously.

"You perhaps remember a ride we took together, about a year ago, when I told you how hard I had found it to resign the idea of studying medicine," Walter began.

"Good heavens, Walter," she interrupted him, "you are not going to begin about that again?"

He gazed at her seriously and sadly for a moment in silence, and noted the eager and yet terrified expression in her eyes.

"But I am," he then said, softly. "I am firmly, unalterably resolved-"

"Walter!" she exclaimed loudly, thrusting Fidèle from her. "You cannot! you dare not! Think of your father!"

"I have thought of him and tried to do as he wished. But do you not think that my father loved me and earnestly desired my happiness?"

"Yes; and for that very reason you ought to do nothing that he would have disapproved."

"And suppose I am perfectly convinced that I never could be contented, but, on the contrary, should be positively miserable, in the career he chose for me?"

"You still ought to pursue that career."

"And live but half a life, tormented by the consciousness that I was entirely unfitted for my position? No, Adela, my father never could have wished me to do this. When I told him of my wishes I had not yet made an attempt to conform to his. This was my duty, and I have done it. Now what I only suspected has come to be a certainty. I have no interest whatever in the study of the law. I cannot make it the business of my life. Do you not believe that the knowledge of this would alter my father's views?"

"Your father never would have allowed you to be a doctor."

"Then he would have sacrificed his better self to a prejudice. The very essence of his being was a kindly enjoyment of life, and it would have caused him the greatest sorrow to have been the occasion of unhappiness to one of his sons. I believe that if he had lived he would have seen this and would have yielded to my wishes. Happiness and unhappiness are dealt out to us by heaven, but human will is not without influence in their distribution. As far as I can I choose to be happy, and in so being to fulfil what I know to have been my father's chief hope for me."

"But your mother, – think of your mother; she never will consent to what you desire."

"No, my mother never will consent until some brilliant result justifies my choice. But she is just as averse to a commonplace legal career, which is what I should now be obliged to pursue, since I cannot be under obligations to my brother. I must be independent. My mother has no decided views for me at present. I hope to win her over in time. Bernhard is angry with me; Lothar only laughs at me. I am very much alone in my family, Adela. But I never shall forget that I am an Eichhof, and I shall try, so far as I can, to do honour to my name. I hope that my mother may one day be proud of me; at all events she shall never be ashamed of me."

He had spoken with some emotion latterly, almost more to himself than to Adela. He suddenly paused and looked at her. Her eyes were opened wide, and tears were rolling down her cheeks.

"Now you know all. Are you still my friend, Adela?" he asked, bending over her.

She seized his hand, and cried, between laughter and tears, "Dear, dear Walter, I know I ought to be angry with you, but I cannot, I cannot."

He pressed her hand to his lips. "Then you think I am right, Adela?" he asked, gazing earnestly into her eyes.

"Good heavens! I do not know, Walter," she sobbed; "but you are so good, and we have known each other so long, and I know you will go away now and never come back again for years."

"And you are sorry?" he whispered.

She did not reply, but her tears continued to flow silently, and, as if to conceal them, she leaned her head upon Walter's shoulder. He put his arm around her, and she made no resistance.

His lips almost touched her curls, and she wept so uncontrollably that his heart was inexpressibly touched. Her tears, and the gentle pressure of her head upon his shoulder, annihilated all the fixed resolves he had made with regard to her; all the prudent reasonings with which he had silenced the promptings of his heart were melted by those 'kindly drops,' like the last snow beneath a warm spring shower. "Dear, dearest Adela!" he whispered, and kissed her brow. She threw her arms about his neck and nestled close to him.

The larks trilled above them, and the sunbeams kissed open the buds of the elder-bush that grew beside the lake, while Fidèle looked at the youthful pair clasped in each other's arms with a certain expression of comprehension in his honest eyes, as if it were all a matter of course.

"And so the very words which I feared would separate us have united us forever, my darling," said Walter, after a long and ecstatic pause. "Ah, how proudly I shall now pursue my path, since I know that I shall not be struggling and working only for myself, but for you! And you will believe in me, and will be patient until the goal is reached, and I have a home for you where you shall be shielded from every blast that blows?"

She suddenly freed herself from his clasp, and, stroking her curls from before her eyes, looked at him in a kind of terror. "Walter," she said, hastily, "for heaven's sake, don't talk so!"

He smiled, and drew her towards him again. "Never fear, dear love," he said. "Be sure that my strength and courage will be all-sufficient to provide for our future. I know now that you love me, and will one day consent to be my wife, although I still persist in being a doctor."

Again she broke away from him. "I never said that, Walter," she cried; "no, no; and I never will say it. You ought to know that if I love you, – and I am not so very sure that I do love you, – all this happened so quickly, – but even if I did love you, I never, never would consent to be a doctor's wife."

Walter looked at her like some sleeper awakening from a dream. He found it hard to understand her, but her words could bear no other meaning except that she meant to break with him if he adhered to his resolve. "It was all a mistake, then, – the saddest mistake of my life," he said, slowly and monotonously. "I do not understand how it could be, Adela, but I understand that you now send me from you." He stood still for a moment, as though awaiting a reply. Adela was silent, and pressed her handkerchief to her lips to restrain her sobs. Walter still looked inquiringly at her. "Farewell!" he suddenly said, and turned to go, but she seized his arm and clung to him as in desperation.

"Walter!" she cried. "Oh, heavens! I-I think-I love you, Walter. You must not go!"

"Adela, do not torture me so!" he entreated. "After what has passed between us, I do not, I cannot know what you mean. You say you love me, and-"

"Yes, yes, Walter; but you must not be a doctor. If you are poor, no matter; we will wait until you are a Landrath, and I will learn all about housekeeping and whatever you wish me to, for-even if I do not know exactly whether I love you-yet-"

"You do not know whether you love me, Adela?" he said, with a bitter laugh. "You do not know exactly? Well, I know, and I will tell you. No, you do not love me, or you never, after what I have told you, could demand such a sacrifice of me! You do not love me, Adela; it was all a dream, and" – he drew out the ribbon upon which he wore her ring-"and it is past and gone!"

He held out the ring to her. "There, take it back," he said, his voice trembling with agitation. "I cannot any longer be your friend. There is only one relation possible between us. I must have all or nothing. Take it, take it back!" And he still held the ring out to her.

"I will not have it," she said, turning stubbornly away.

"Take it, or I will throw it into the lake. I will not keep it."

"Do as you please."

Walter tossed the ring from him. For an instant it glittered in the sunlight above the waters of the little lake, into which it sank with a faint splash.

Adela never looked towards it. She stooped and stroked the head of her dog, who pressed close to her side as if in dread of some coming misfortune. The girl thought that Walter would speak again. Suddenly she heard the sound of a horse's hoofs behind her. She started up, to see both steed and rider just disappearing at the turning of the oak avenue.

"Walter!" she almost screamed.

But he had gone. She sank on her knees, and laid her head upon Fidèle's neck.

"Walter," she sobbed, "I love you! Oh, now I know I love you!" But Walter could not hear her.

CHAPTER XI.

THEA ROUNDS HER FIRST PROMONTORY

His brother's affairs were soon driven from Bernhard's mind by anxiety with regard to his own. The building of the factory was in full progress, and the new agricultural machines were to be tested. Meadows were being cleared and fields drained, and Bernhard wanted to be everywhere, and to have everything under his personal supervision. He spent the greater part of the day riding or driving to distant parts of his estate, and his dreams at night were of ploughing-machines, and of new leases for farms. Thea, who had at first accompanied him in his rides and drives, now generally stayed at home, and grew graver and more silent every day, – a fact which Bernhard had no time to notice. He never, it is true, left the house without a hurried visit to her room, when he would leave a hasty kiss upon her forehead, with a "Well, Thea, how are you? I'm off on horseback!" and then, without waiting for her reply, he would leave her and run down-stairs as if in hopes of making up for the minute he had wasted upon her. Now and then she ventured a timid question with regard to his occupations, but, since a fitting reply demanded explanations for which Bernhard had no time, and to comprehend which would require more technical knowledge than she possessed, the answers she received were brief and vague. Whenever anything occurred, however, that was especially unfortunate, Bernhard appealed to his wife for sympathy, which she freely gave him, although in doing so she often betrayed her entire ignorance of the matter in question.

Visits and social events were rare, since the family were still in mourning. Thea's girl friends were all, with the exception of Adela Hohenstein, now married, and had left the neighbourhood, where there were no young married women save Frau von Wronsky, with whom Bernhard did not wish Thea to associate, and who since the death of the Count had paid only one short visit of condolence at Eichhof. Thus Thea was very much alone, and although she did her best to kill time with china-painting and reading, with embroidery and new music, she could not always escape ennui. She had no special talent for either music or painting, only a certain facility which always requires encouragement for practice. This encouragement was wanting. She thought of her mother, who had been continually occupied, but the household at Eichhof was very different from that at Schönthal. Everything at her old home had been comprised in a much smaller compass, was much more simple, and Frau von Rosen had held unlimited sway, had overseen her people, and arranged her housekeeping herself. At Eichhof there was an omnipotent housekeeper, who had lived more than twenty years in the family, and for whom Thea entertained an immense respect. The cook was a very fine gentleman, and the footmen were correspondingly grand. All these people knew so much, and had been in the house so long, that Thea, with her eighteen years and her inexperience, scarcely regarded herself as their mistress. Everything went its way like a clock that has been wound up, any interference with which would only do harm.