"But it is extremely creditable for laymen to take an interest in such studies," he remarked, condescendingly. "I only fear that you cannot have the necessary leisure for them here. There must be a great deal of stir in the Castle, a continual coming and going of all sorts of people, is there not?"
"It may be so," replied Fabian, unsuspiciously, and without an inkling of the manœuvre executed by his visitor; "but Waldemar, knowing my bent, has been so kind as to choose for me the most secluded and quietest rooms."
"Naturally, naturally!" Hubert was standing at the window now, trying to take a thorough survey of the place. "But I should fancy that such an old building as this Wilicza, dating back through many centuries, must in itself have a great interest for you, with its various historical reminiscences. All these halls, staircases, and galleries! and what immense cellars there must be below! Were you ever in the cellars?"
"In the cellars?" asked the Doctor, in much astonishment. "No, certainly not. What should I be doing there?"
"
I
should go down," said the Assessor. "I have a fancy for such old vaults, as indeed for everything that is curious. By-the-by, is the late Herr Nordeck's collection of arms still complete? They say he had a most extravagant mania for such things, and that he got together hundreds of the finest rifles and other weapons."
"You must ask his son!" Dr. Fabian replied with a shrug. "I own I have not yet been in the armoury."
"That will be on the other side of the house," observed Hubert, taking his bearings with all the keenness of a detective. "According to Frank's description it must be a dark, uncanny sort of place, like everything about Wilicza indeed. Have not you heard that the house is haunted? You have not yourself noticed anything unusual, out of the common, at night, I suppose?"
"I sleep at night," replied the Doctor, tranquilly, but with a slight smile at his visitor's superstition.
The Assessor cast an appealing glance towards Heaven. This man, whom accident had placed in the very heart of the place, saw and heard nothing of what was going on around him. He had not visited the cellars; he had not even been in the armoury, and at night he slept! No information could be extracted from this simple bookworm. Hubert could see that, so after a few polite speeches he took his leave and left the room.
He went slowly along the corridor. On his arrival a servant had received, and led him to the Doctor's study; but now on his way back he was alone, alone in this 'nest of conspiracy,' which now, in the broad daylight, with its carpeted galleries and stairs, certainly appeared as secure and dignified in its repose as the most loyal home of the most loyal subject. But the Assessor was not to be deluded by appearances. Right and left he scented those plots which unfortunately escaped his grasp. There was a door which had a suspicious look, he thought. It stood in the shade of a colossal pillar, and was strongly and deeply encased in the wall. This door possibly led to a back staircase, or into a secret gallery, possibly even below into the cellars which Hubert's fancy at once peopled with troops of traitors and filled with concealed stacks of arms. Should he press the latch? At the worst, he could allege a mistake, could say he had lost himself in the Castle's intricate ways … perhaps the key to all its secrets lay here.... Suddenly the door opened, and Waldemar Nordeck stepped out. The Assessor sprang back. Just Heaven! for the second time he had nearly fallen foul of the master of Wilicza. One glance through the open chink showed him that the place he had held to be such dangerous ground was that gentleman's bedroom. Waldemar passed him with a very cool bow, and went on to Dr. Fabian's apartments. Hubert saw that, in spite of his apology, this 'suspicious character' had not forgiven him. The consciousness of this and the shock of the unexpected meeting had, for the present, robbed him of all desire for further discoveries, and a servant just then appearing on the staircase, no alternative was left him but at once to make his way out.
Meanwhile Waldemar had gone in to his old tutor, who was still standing at the writing-table, busy putting in order the books and papers he had lately screened from the Assessor's curious gaze. The young man went up to him.
"Well, what news?" he asked. "You have had letters and newspapers from J–. I saw them when I sent you the packet over."
The Doctor looked up. "Oh, Waldemar," he said in a grievous tone, "why did you almost force me to bring my work and quiet studies before the public? I resisted from the first, but you went on urging and persuading me until the book appeared."
"Of course I did. What use was it to yourself, or to any one else while it was lying shut up in that drawer? But what has happened? Your 'History of Teutonism' was received in learned circles with a favour far beyond our expectations. The first recognition of its worth came from J–, from Professor Weber, and I should think
his
opinion would be decisive on such a subject."
"I thought so too," replied Fabian, despondingly. "I was so proud and happy at receiving praise from such a mouth, but that is just what has roused Professor Schwarz–you know him, don't you?–to attack me and my book in quite an unprecedented manner. Just look at this."
He held out the newspaper to him. Nordeck took it and read the paragraph through coolly. "This is nothing but a charming specimen of spitefulness. The end is especially neat. 'We hear that this new celebrity just discovered by Professor Weber was for a long time tutor to the son of one of our greatest landed proprietors, and that his system of education was attended by no very brilliant result. Notwithstanding this, the influence of the distinguished pupil we speak of may have had something to do with our friend's exaggerated appreciation of a work by which an ambitious dilettante hopes to force his way into the ranks of scientific men!'"
Waldemar threw down the paper. "Poor Doctor! How often will you be made to suffer for having brought up such a monster as myself! In truth, your system of education has as little to do with my unamiable character as my influence had with Weber's review of your book; but in these exclusive circles they will never forgive you for having been a private tutor, even though you should one day mount into a Professor's chair."
"Good Heavens, who ever dreams of such a thing!" exclaimed the Doctor, fairly frightened at so bold a notion. "Not I, certainly, and therefore it hurts me all the more to be accused of ambition, and of intrusively thrusting myself forward, merely because I have written a scientific book which keeps strictly to the matter in hand, offends no one, interferes with no one …"
"And moreover is of remarkable merit," interrupted Waldemar. "I should have thought you would have come round to that belief yourself when Weber took up the cudgels for you so decidedly. You know he does not allow himself to be influenced, and you used to think him an indisputable authority, to whom you looked up in veneration."
"Professor Schwarz is an authority too."
"Yes, but an atrabilious one who admits no one's importance but his own. What the deuce made you hit on this Teutonic theme? That is
his
province–
he
has written on that, and woe to the man who lays his finger on it. That man's work is condemned beforehand. Don't look so discouraged. It is not becoming in a recently discovered celebrity. What would Uncle Witold, with his sovereign contempt for the old 'heathen rubbish,' have said to Weber's discovery? I think you would have been treated rather more respectfully than was, I regret to say, the case. You made a great sacrifice in remaining with me."
"Do not speak so, Waldemar," said the Doctor, with a touch of indignation. "I well know on whose side the sacrifice is now! Who obstinately insisted upon keeping me with him when I could be of no further use to him, and yet refused to accept the smallest service which was likely to take me from my books? Who gave me the means to devote myself solely to study, so that I could gather together and set in order the scattered knowledge I possessed? Who almost compelled me to accompany him on his travels, because my health was shaken by constant work? The hour in which your Norman injured me was a blessed one for me. It has brought me all I ever hoped or wished for from life."
"Then you wished for very little," said Waldemar, impatiently–he was evidently anxious to turn the conversation into another channel. "But one thing more. I met that gifted representative of the L– police wandering about the Castle just now. He had been here with you, and I see him continually over yonder at the manor farm. He can have no object in visiting us now that we have proved ourselves beyond suspicion. What is he always hanging about Wilicza for?"
Fabian looked down in much embarrassment. "I don't know, but I imagine that his frequent visits to the steward's house have a purely personal motive. He called on me to-day."
"And you received him with the utmost friendliness? Doctor, you are a living impersonation of the doctrines of Christianity. To him who smites you on the right cheek, you will meekly turn the left. I believe you would not hesitate a moment to render Professor Schwarz an important service, if it were in your power. But beware of this Assessor, with his frantic mania for arresting people. He is on the hunt for conspirators again, you may be sure; and limited as his intelligence may be, chance might for once play the right cards into his hands. It would not be difficult here at Wilicza."
The last words were spoken in such a tone of angry annoyance that the Doctor let fall the first volume of his 'History of Teutonism,' which he had just taken up.
"You have made some unpleasant discovery?" he asked. "Worse even than you expected. I thought so, though you have said so little about it."
Waldemar had sat down, and was leaning his head on his hand.
"You know that I am not fond of talking of worries so long as I have not mastered them; and besides, I wanted time to look about me. What guarantee had I that, in representing matters to me as he did, the steward was not prompted by some interest of his own, that he was not exaggerating and distorting facts? One can only trust to one's own judgment in these things, and I have been exercising mine during the last few weeks. Unfortunately, I find every word confirmed which Frank wrote to me. So far as his supremacy extends, there is order, and hard enough it must be for him to maintain it; but on the other estates, on the other farms, and worst of all in the forests–well, I was prepared to find things in a bad way, but such an utter chaos I really did not expect!"
Fabian had pushed his books and papers to one side, and was following Waldemar's words with anxious sympathy and attention. The gloomy look on his old pupil's face seemed to cause him some uneasiness.
"Uncle Witold always imagined that my Polish estates could be managed from a distance," went on Nordeck, "and unfortunately he brought me up in that belief. I disliked Wilicza. For me the place had none but bitter memories; it reminded me of the sad breach between my parents, of my own joyless early childhood. I was accustomed to look on Altenhof as my home; and later on, when I intended coming, when I ought to have come, something else held me back– The penalty for all this has to be paid now. The twenty years of official mismanagement during my guardian's time had worked mischief enough; but the worst has come to pass in the last four years under the Baratowski régime. It is altogether my own fault. Why have I never taken any interest in the property? Why did I adopt that unfortunate habit of my uncle's of putting faith in every report which stood on paper in black and white. Now I am, as it were, sold and betrayed on my own land."
"Your majority was fixed at so early a date," said the Doctor, soothingly; "those three years at the University were indispensable to your mental culture and improvement, and when we determined on giving twelve months to travelling, we had no suspicion of how matters stood here. We set our faces homeward so soon as you received the steward's letter, and you, with your energy, will, I am sure, find yourself equal to any emergency."
"Who knows?" said Waldemar, gloomily. "The Princess is my mother, and she and Leo are quite dependent on me. It is that which ties my hands. If I once let it come to a serious rupture, they will have to leave Wilicza. Rakowicz would be their only refuge. I will not expose them, or at any rate my brother, to such a humiliation. And yet a stop must be put to all this, especially to the doings in the Castle itself. You suspect nothing? That I believe, but
I
know it. I only wanted to get a clear view of the state of affairs first. Now I shall speak to my mother."
A long pause ensued. Fabian did not venture to reply. He knew that when his friend's face took that expression, no trifling matters were on hand. At last, however, he got up and went over to him.
"Waldemar," he asked in a low tone, laying his hand on the young man's shoulder, "what happened yesterday, when you were out hunting?"
Waldemar looked up. "When I was out hunting? Nothing. What made you think of that?"
"You seemed so thoroughly out of sorts when you came back. I heard some allusions at dinner to a dispute between you and Prince Baratowski."
"No, no," said Nordeck, indifferently. "Leo was a little huffed, because I had treated his favourite horse rather roughly; but the thing was of no consequence. We have settled it already."
"It was something else, then?"
"Yes–something else."
"Waldemar, the other day the Princess called me your one confidant. I might have replied that you had never need of a confidant. It may be that I stand somewhat closer to you than other people, but you never open your mind to me. Is it absolutely necessary that you should bear all, fight through all alone?"
Waldemar smiled, but it was a cold, cheerless smile. "You must take me as I am. But what is there now to make you anxious? With all the worry and the annoyances which come pouring in upon me on all sides, I have reason enough to be out of sorts."
The Doctor shook his head. "It is not that. Such things may irritate and annoy you, but your present frame of mind is a very different one. I have never seen you so but once, Waldemar–that time at Altenhof …"
"Pray spare me these reminiscences, sir," Waldemar broke in so harshly and abruptly that Fabian recoiled; then, recovering himself quickly, he added far more mildly, "I am sorry you, too, should feel the effects of the vexation and harass this Wilicza causes me. It was selfish of me to bring you. You should have returned to J–, at least until I had established some sort of order here, and until I could have offered you a peaceful asylum."
"Nothing would have induced me to let you come alone," Fabian declared in his gentle voice, but with a decision of manner most unusual to him.
Waldemar held out his hand to him, as if to ask pardon for his former vehemence. "I know it, but do not torment yourself any more about me, or I shall really regret having spoken openly to you. You have enough to do with your own affairs. When you write to J– again, remember me to Professor Weber, and tell him I am about to make a practical illustration of your book, and to impress on my Slavonic lands the stamp of the Teuton. It is much needed here at Wilicza. Good-bye."
He went. Dr. Fabian looked after him, and sighed. "Impenetrable and hard as a rock directly one approaches that one subject; and yet I know that he has never got over the old trouble, and never will. I fear the unhappy influence, to escape which we so long avoided Wilicza, is again at work. Waldemar may deny it as he will–I saw it plainly when he came home from hunting yesterday–he is under the old spell again."
CHAPTER VI
That evening perfect quiet and stillness reigned in Wilicza, in contrast to the bustle and stir of the preceding day, when the whole place had swarmed with guests. On the return from the hunt a great supper had been served which lasted far on into the night, and most of the guests had slept at the Castle, leaving early in the morning. Count Morynski and Leo had gone away, too, on a visit to a neighbouring château. They would not return for several days; but Wanda had remained to keep her aunt company.
The two ladies were therefore on this evening alone in the drawing-room. It was already lighted up, and the curtains had been closely drawn; no sign was to be seen within these walls of the fierce November storm raging without. The Princess was seated on a sofa; but the young Countess had risen from her chair, pushing it hastily back as though in annoyance, and was pacing uneasily up and down the room.
"Wanda, I do beg of you to spare me these Cassandra-like warnings," said the elder lady. "I tell you again, your judgment is warped by your antipathy to Waldemar. Does it necessarily follow that he is our enemy, because you choose to remain on a war-footing with him."
Wanda stopped in her walk, and looked darkly across at the speaker. "You will one day regret having treated my warnings with ridicule, aunt," she replied. "I persist in my opinion. You are mistaken in your son. He is neither so blind nor so indifferent as you and every one else believe."
"Instead of these vague prophecies, why not say clearly and distinctly what it is you really fear?" said the Princess. "You know that in such a case as this I do not care for people's views and fancies. I require proofs. What has suggested to you this suspicion to which you cling so obstinately? Tell me what Waldemar really said to you yesterday when you met him at the forester's station."
Wanda was silent. That meeting by the forest lake–not at the station, as she had thought fit to state to her aunt–had furnished her with no actual proof for her assertions, for Waldemar had admitted nothing, and no consideration would have induced her to repeat the details of her conversation with him. She could only allege that strange instinct which from the first had guided her in her appreciation of his character, had led her to see clearly where even her aunt's penetration was at fault; but she well knew that she could not cite her instincts and presentiments without calling up a pitying smile on her aunt's face.
"We said very little to each other," she replied at length; "but I heard enough to convince me that he knows more than he ought."
"Very possibly," said the Princess, with perfect composure; "we must have been prepared for that sooner or later. I doubt that Waldemar has drawn inferences from any observations of his own; but over at the manor-farm they are sure to have whispered enough in his ear to put him on the alert. He has more to do with them than I like. He knows just what the steward knows, and what is no secret to any one in L–, namely, that we hold with our own people; but he has no deeper insight than the others; we have taken our precautions to prevent that. Besides, his whole conduct up to the present time tends to show that he is indifferent on the subject, as indeed he can afford to be, seeing that it does not concern him personally in the very least. In any case, this son of mine possesses a sufficient sense of decorum to withhold him from compromising his nearest relations. I put that to the test on the subject of Frank's resignation. It was displeasing to him, I know, and yet he did not hesitate to range himself on my side, because I had gone too far for him to undo my work without openly disavowing me. I shall take care that in more serious matters he shall find himself equally fettered, should it ever occur to him to play the master, or the German."
"You will not listen to me," said Wanda, resignedly. "Let the future decide which of us two is right. But I have a request to make, dear aunt. You will not object to my leaving early to-morrow morning?"
"So soon? but it was agreed that your father should come back here to fetch you!"
"I only remained to have a little quiet talk with you on this subject. Nothing else would have detained me at Wilicza. It was useless, I see; so let me go now."
The Princess shrugged her shoulders. "You know, my dear, how glad I always am to have you with me; but I frankly confess that after our very disagreeable dinner to-day, I shall put no obstacle in the way of your speedy departure. You and Waldemar hardly exchanged a word. I was forced to keep up a conversation with Dr. Fabian the whole time, in order to break the painful
gêne
of the situation. If you can exercise no control over yourself in these inevitable meetings, it will be really better that you should go."
In spite of the highly ungracious manner in which the permission was granted, the young Countess drew a breath of relief, as though a load were lifted from her.
"Well, then, I will send word to papa that he will find me at home at Rakowicz, and that he need not make the round by Wilicza," said she, quickly. "You will allow me to use your writing-table for a few minutes?"
The Princess nodded assent. Truth to say, she had on this occasion no objection to her niece's departure, for she was tired of standing perpetually between her and Waldemar, on the watch to ward off a scene, or a positive rupture. Wanda went into her aunt's study–which was only separated from the drawing-room by a heavy portière, half drawn back–and sat down at the writing-table. She had hardly written the first words when the door of the salon was quickly opened and a firm, steady step, audible even on the soft carpet, made her pause in her work. Immediately afterwards Waldemar's voice was heard in the next room.
The Countess slowly dropped her pen. Here in the study she could not possibly be seen, and she did not feel it incumbent on her to announce her presence, so she sat motionless, leaning her head on her hand. Not a word of what passed in the drawing-room escaped her.
The Princess, too, had looked up in surprise at her son's entrance; it was not his custom to visit her at this hour. Waldemar always spent the evenings in his own rooms with Dr. Fabian. It seemed, however, that an exception was to be made to-day, for after a few words of greeting he took a seat by his mother's side, and began to speak of yesterday's hunt.
For some minutes the conversation turned on indifferent topics. Waldemar had taken up an album of water-colour sketches which lay on the table, and was turning over the pages, while the Princess leaned back among the sofa cushions.
"Have you heard that your steward is intending to become a landed proprietor?" she remarked, carelessly. "He is seriously occupied now, looking out for a place in the neighbourhood. His situation at Wilicza must have been a lucrative one, for so far as I know Frank had no fortune when he came here."
"He has had an excellent income for the last twenty years," observed Waldemar, without looking up from the pages. "With his quiet way of living he can hardly have spent the half."
"Added to which, he has no doubt taken care of his own interests in all things, great and small. But enough of this. I wanted to ask you if you have thought of any one to replace him?"
"No."
"Well, then, I have a proposal to make to you. The tenant at Janowo cannot keep on his farm; he has fallen into distress through no fault of his own, and is obliged to take a dependent situation again. I think he would be a most suitable person for the stewardship of Wilicza."
"I think not," said Waldemar, very quietly. "The man goes about drunk the whole day long, and has ruined the place he has leased entirely by his own had conduct. He has not a shadow of an excuse."
The Princess bit her lips. "Who told you so? The steward, I suppose."
The young man was silent. His mother went on in a tone of some irritation.
"I do not, of course, wish to influence you in the choice of the persons you employ; but, in your own interest, I must warn you not to place such implicit faith in Frank's calumnies. The farmer would be an inconvenient successor, that is why he intrigues against him."
"Hardly that," replied Waldemar, as calmly as before, "for he is already aware that I do not intend to give him a successor. The two German inspectors will amply suffice to look after all the details of the concern, and as to the management in chief, I shall take that in hand myself."
The Princess started. His words seemed to take her breath away. "Yourself? That is new to me!"
"It should not be so. We have always looked forward to a time when I should take possession of my estates. That time has been deferred, owing to my stay at the University and my absence abroad; but the plan has never been given up. I know enough of farming and forestry–my guardian saw to that. I shall doubtless have some trouble in getting used to the local customs and affairs, but Frank will be at hand to help me till the spring."
He made these remarks in a nonchalant tone, as though he were saying the most natural things in the world, and appeared so absorbed in his study of the water-colour sketches that he did not notice his mother's consternation. She had raised herself from her negligent attitude, and was looking keenly and fixedly at him, but with no better success than her niece had met with on the preceding day–nothing was to be read in that countenance.
"It is strange that you have never let fall a hint of this resolve of yours," she observed. "You led us all to believe that you were only going to pay us a short visit."
"I only intended paying a short visit at first, but I see that the hand of the master is wanted here. More than this," he went on after a pause, "I have something to say to you, mother."
He shut the book, and threw it down on the table. Now for the first time it occurred to the Princess that Wanda's instinct had, perhaps, after all, seen more clearly in this case than her own penetrating and usually unfailing glance. She felt the storm coming, but she at once prepared to meet it, and the resolved expression of her face showed beyond a doubt that, in any struggle with her, her son would have a hard fight of it.
"Say on, then," she said, coldly. "I am ready to listen."
Waldemar had risen now and fixed his eyes sternly upon her. "When, four years ago, I offered you Wilicza as a home, I felt bound to give my mother a well-defined position as mistress of the Castle. The estates, however, remained my property, I suppose?"
"Has any one ever disputed it?" asked the Princess. "I imagine no one has ever raised a doubt as to your right to your estates."
"No, but I see the consequences now of leaving them for years in Baratowski and Morynski hands."
The Princess rose now in her turn, and faced her son with great dignity of demeanour.
"What is the meaning of this? Do you wish to make me responsible for the administration of your affairs not being such as you would wish? Blame your guardian, who for a quarter of a century allowed the officials to run riot here in the most incredible manner. The evil effects of their neglect have not escaped my notice; but you must settle such accounts with the persons in your employ, my son, and not with me."
"With the persons in
my
employ?" cried Waldemar, bitterly. "I think Frank is the only one who acknowledges me as master. The others, one and all, are in your service; and though perhaps they would hardly venture to refuse me obedience, I know well enough that any command of mine would be met by a host of expedients and intrigues, by a secret but active opposition, should you think proper to put your veto on it."
"You are dreaming, Waldemar," said the Princess, with a pitying and superior smile. "I did not think you were so completely under the steward's influence; but really, I must beg of you to set some bounds to your credulity in matters relating to your mother."
"And I beg of you to give up the old attempt at stinging me into compliance," interrupted her son. "Once, it is true, you were able to mould me as you wished by setting before me fear of a foreign influence which might assume control over my actions; but since I have really had a will of my own, it has become immaterial to me whether I seem to possess one or not. I have been silent for weeks, precisely because I did not altogether put faith in the steward's reports. I wanted to see with my own eyes–but now I ask you: Who has delivered over the farms, which, four years ago were all in German hands, to countrymen of yours on absurdly disadvantageous terms, without any guarantee, any security, against the loss they have caused, the damage they have done the land? Who has introduced into the woods and forests a set of men who may render eminent services to your national interests, but who have cut down my revenues by one half? Who has made the steward's position here so unbearable that he has no choice but to go? Fortunately, he possessed energy enough to call me to the rescue, or I should, in all probability, have remained away much longer, and it was high time for me to come. You have recklessly sacrificed everything to your family traditions; my officials, my fortune, my position even, for people naturally suppose that it has been done with my consent. The property was badly managed in my guardian's time; but no permanent harm was done, for the estates possess almost inexhaustible resources in themselves; the last four years, however, under your rule, have brought them to the very verge of ruin. You must have known it. You are acute enough to see whither all this must finally lead, and energetic enough to put a stop to it, if you had really wished to do so; but such considerations could, of course, have no weight. You had only one aim and object in view–to prepare Wilicza for the coming revolution."
The Princess had listened in silence, benumbed, as it were, by amazement which grew with every minute, and was roused even more by her son's manner than by what he said. It was not the first time such words had been spoken within those walls. The late Herr Nordeck had often enough reproached his wife with recklessly offering up all and everything at the shrine of her family traditions; he had indeed crushed in their birth many such schemes as those which were now ripe for execution, but such a scene as the present could not have taken place without the man's nature showing itself in all its brutality. He would rage and storm, would pour forth a stream of wild threats and abusive epithets, endeavouring so to assert his authority, but never evoking from his proud, fearless wife any response other than a smile of contempt. She knew that this "parvenu" possessed neither high intelligence nor strength of character, that his hatred and partisanship were alike based on the lowest motives; and, if anything could equal her disdain of him, it was the indignation she felt that such a husband should have been forced upon her. If Waldemar had conducted himself in the same way, she would not have been in the least surprised–the fact that he did not so conduct himself was what confounded her. He stood before her in a calm, self-possessed attitude, and coldly, but with telling emphasis, flung at her word after word, proof upon proof. Yet she saw that passion was hot within him. The vein on his temple stood out ominously swollen,