CHAPTER XII.
ANOTHER PROMONTORY COMES IN SIGHT
The long summer days as they passed were happy indeed for Thea, and all the more cloudless and sunny because of the absence at a watering-place of the old Countess Eichhof.
The young wife had wellnigh forgotten the shadow that had been cast upon her path for a moment by the figure of Frau von Wronsky, and she was no longer in the least jealous of the old superintendent, for she was now Bernhard's daily companion and her advice and opinion were eagerly sought for. Bernhard was almost as inexperienced as herself in the management of an estate, and, since she had more leisure and less ambition for distinction than he, the old superintendent sometimes declared that the Frau Countess really understood matters better than the young master. Lothar frequently occupied his room at Eichhof, rode Bernhard's horses, ate almond-cakes, and entertained his comrade, Werner, with accounts of his sister-in-law's constantly increasing beauty. Werner seldom came to Eichhof, but when he did come, Thea always had much to tell him. She read the books that he recommended to her, and he was the only one who seemed to take any interest in Walter. Thea corresponded with her youngest brother-in-law, and hoped in time to be the medium of reconciliation between him and Bernhard, who made no objection to this correspondence, although he refused to listen to Walter's letters. Lothar was not so decided in his antagonism towards his younger brother, but he yawned whenever Thea spoke of him, and so she was driven to seek sympathy solely from her father and from Werner. Each listened attentively to all she had to say of Walter, for, although Werner did not know him personally, the young fellow's pluck and determination interested him greatly.
In all things else perfect harmony existed between Thea and her husband. And yet these sunny summer days were not long cloudless. For some time it had seemed to the superintendent that his master's enthusiasm was on the wane. "It will increase again," he thought at first, but before long he began to shake his head over the state of affairs. At last Thea too noticed that Bernhard was often out of sorts and not so actively employed as heretofore. The reason for this was to be found not in outward circumstances, but in Bernhard himself. He had, it is true, had many disappointments, and had encountered many obstacles, but what especially galled him was the reflection that he was not turning his talents to sufficient account. When, young as he was, he entered upon his inheritance he had determined to effect extraordinary results. In his ardour for accomplishment he had forgotten that there must be a certain knowledge acquired for such accomplishment, and now he could not but frankly confess to himself that he had really done very little, that those in his employ had been the real workers and had understood matters far better than had their master. There had been much outlay of capital also, and it was questionable whether this outlay had always been judicious.
"I fritter away my powers of mind in too many directions," he said to Thea one day, "and I fear I am not precisely fulfilling my vocation. I attempt to be architect, mathematician, grazier, and ever so many other things besides, and I know that I am really none of all these, and do not indeed desire to be. I fancied the management of a landed estate to be something vastly more important."
"But it certainly is a fine thing to arrange and to create as you are doing," Thea replied. "I feel proud as we drive through the meadows, where your will has transformed what was unprofitable land into green grassy fields."
"Yes, I am pleased with that too, but in fact I have had very little to do with it; others have done it for me, and would have done it as well without me."
Thea sighed; she was so content, and she had been so proud of this very industry of Bernhard's that he was now depreciating.
Then Lothar came to Eichhof one day and reported that several of the most respectable citizens of R- had asked him whether he thought that his brother would accept a nomination for the Reichstag. Bernhard knew that there had been some such proposition talked of in official circles, and he had cherished the idea, since he was the largest landed proprietor in his district, and the seat that it commanded would fall vacant just when he had completed his twenty-fifth year and was thus eligible for a nomination.
"I know that some of our neighbours are thinking of you, too," said Lothar; "and you will see, when you come to the Diet-assembly to-morrow, that you will be offered the nomination."
Bernhard's eyes sparkled. "I confess that the possibility occurred to me," he replied. "Hohenstein said something about it the other day; but I'm afraid that the ultramontane candidate has the only chance."
"That's a question," said Lothar. "Herr M-, it seems, has some blots on his scutcheon, which his opponent will use to the best advantage; and since Wronsky, in view of his Polish ancestry, I suppose, is to be their second candidate, there will hardly be a due amount of enthusiasm among the ultramontanists, since he is, to my certain knowledge, a very lukewarm Romanist. And, besides, you, with all your dependants here, have more votes at your disposal than any one of them."
"I never would force my people to vote against their own convictions."
"Nonsense! If they are not convinced that their master is the fittest man to represent them, let them find another master."
"Now you are talking just like Hohenstein," said Bernhard, laughing. "Did you not discuss a bowl of punch together last night while he explained to you his views upon the coming election?"
"You're right as far as the punch goes, Bernhard, but as for the views, they are my own, and I think you owe it to the good cause to accept the nomination, since every one says that you have by far the best chance to defeat the ultramontanist."
"Well, we shall see how matters look to-morrow at the Diet," said Bernhard.
"You will be there, at all events?"
"Of course."
Thea had hitherto listened in silence. "Bernhard," she now said, suddenly, "if you were elected you would have to go to Berlin in the autumn."
"Possibly."
"But, Bernhard, you know-" She leaned over him and whispered a few words in his ear.
"No need to trouble ourselves about it, my child," he replied. "In the first place, my nomination is entirely uncertain, not to speak of my election-"
"But you would accept it?"
"Good heavens! I really do not know. 'Tis a matter for grave reflection."
He tried to convince himself that he had come to no decision, and he was nevertheless exulting in his inmost heart at the thought of political activity. Politics were assuredly fitted to employ all his powers, to call forth all his energy. Here was a field in which a man could gratify his ambition and achieve prominence without the petty labour, the commonplace effort required by the management of an estate.
Lothar, usually so slow to reflect and to draw conclusions, was clearer-sighted than Thea in this matter. He knew that his brother would accept this nomination, while the young wife hoped to induce him to decline it. She had taken great pains to fit herself to share in her husband's present interests, and she was proud that she had succeeded. What possibility was there of her gaining any insight into politics, when that was to take place in the autumn which would prevent her from accompanying her husband to Berlin?
There was no room for doubt upon the subject, however, by the evening of the next day, when Bernhard came home, accompanied by the Freiherr von Hohenstein, who presented her husband to Thea as "our future member for the Reichstag, madame."
"Bernhard?" she exclaimed, in involuntary alarm.
"Certainly not member yet," said Bernhard: "but the confidence reposed in me by my old friends and neighbours is so flattering, dear Thea, that I could not do otherwise than accept the nomination with thanks."
"Nonsense! your election is a certainty," said Hohenstein; "leave that to us. I'll have no one in my service or on my land who does not vote with me; nor shall those who do not vote with me be benefited by my bounty during the winter. Every man of them has something to gain from us, and must do our pleasure if he hopes to retain our good will."
"But, papa," cried Adela, who had ridden over to Eichhof to meet her father, "you must not send Jusak away. He is the best groom we ever had, and keeps my mare in such beautiful trim; besides, he rides superbly. Only a week ago the poor fellow was groaning over the coming election, because his wife is such a terrible scold and the most devout Catholic in the entire village, always going twice to church every Sunday and holiday. He says his vote must cost him either dismissal from your service or a terrible row at home that will last he cannot tell how long."
Hohenstein laughed. "Why doesn't the rascal keep his wife in better order, then?" he rejoined.
"He keeps the mare and everything else in his charge in perfect order."
"Nevertheless, if he votes against me he shall go. All our neighbours think as I do in this matter, and you, Eichhof, are, I suppose, no exception."
"Bernhard, you would not really act thus?" asked Thea. Her husband shrugged his shoulders.
"Hohenstein has far more experience in such affairs than I," he replied. "Such a course is hardly what I should like, but it may be the only one to pursue. It is not simply a personal question; the principles that I advocate are at stake, and they must be maintained; each vote that I lose adds one to the opposition. We must look to the end in view."
"And shut your eyes to the means; there speaks the Jesuit, Thea!" Adela exclaimed, laughing.
"You do not understand, Fräulein Adela," said Bernhard, who was still under the influence of the excited speakers to whom he had been listening in R-. "I was disposed to be of your opinion, and even now I am not in favour of harsh measures to secure votes, but I see clearly that some pressure must, be brought to bear. The vote of one of us, trained as we have been to reflect and decide, to draw logical conclusions, is of no more weight than is that of an ignorant groom, whose ideas are centred in his stables. These people scarcely know what questions are at stake in the choice of a member for the Reichstag, and cannot possibly judge who would best represent the interests of the country. They have been strongly influenced all their lives long, and to suppose that they can suddenly form an independent judgment in so important a matter as an election of this kind is perfect nonsense. Therefore it is for their own good that they should be influenced now."
"Yes, with food, fagots, and dismissals," exclaimed Adela. "Very well, Count Bernhard; if I lose Jusak through your fault all friendship between us is at an end."
"Then all I can do to regain your good will, Fräulein Adela, is to raise my voice in the Reichstag, if I ever get there, in favour of the emancipation of woman."
"That would go far to appease me, to be sure," she said; and then, taking Thea's arm, she added, "Come, Thea; when men begin to talk politics they are simply detestable, and I see very well that they are to be the topic here."
"Not at all; we would far rather enjoy your charming society," said Bernhard.
"Oh, yes; and in order to do so plunge into discussions as to where the next election meeting shall be held, and what you mean to say at it, and what some one else will say then, and how many votes you have, and how many your opponent has. It's all excessively interesting, no doubt. I heard it all last year at the official elections for the lower chamber, and I know that papa and you and all the rest will think of nothing else for weeks to come, and that I shall be bored to death. Thank heaven, officers cannot vote; my hope is in them for the present."
The gentlemen laughed, and even Thea smiled at Adela's irritation. Since, however, Herr von Hohenstein was evidently eager for the discussion which his daughter so reprobated, she allowed herself to be drawn away to the next room, where Adela instantly began to describe a dress she intended to wear at a picnic to be given by the officers of hussars in the neighbourhood. Thea listened but vaguely, for her mind was much occupied by Bernhard's election. She could not quite understand or approve his sudden enthusiasm for political life. She felt it her duty as a wife to rejoice in the distinction conferred upon him, and yet she could not control her dislike of this hasty change in her husband's views and plans.
"Alma is to be dressed just as I am," Adela chattered on meanwhile. "Tell me, Thea, have you noticed that Lothar seems very attentive to Alma?" Thea's attention was aroused.
"Lothar?" she repeated. "How did such an idea enter your head? I have seen nothing of it."
Adela declared that she did not believe there was anything in it, but Thea resolved to watch Lothar more closely and to talk more with him, for hitherto, although he was older than she, she had treated him as a younger brother, who told funny stories very well and ate almond-cakes with a grateful relish, but who could not possibly be suspected of falling honestly and seriously in love. But when her own sister was thus spoken of, it behoved her to be more observant.
Adela, whose moods were as variable as an April day, suddenly fell silent and looked very grave. Then she asked, "Walter is not coming to Eichhof this year, is he?"
"No; Walter is very economical, and, since he will accept nothing from Bernhard, he must find going to Berlin quite expensive."
"He is going to Berlin, then?"
"Yes; he is to continue his studies there. Did you not know that? Oh, I remember you would not listen to his letter the other day when I wanted to read it to you."
Adela blushed crimson, and rejoined, with a laugh, "I wish I could stop saying everything that comes into my head, without stopping to think. But come, let us see if the gentlemen are still as tiresome as ever."
When they returned to the drawing-room they found Bernhard and his friend still discussing the election. But Adela joined them, and sat still between Bernhard and Thea for the remainder of the evening, as though she dreaded another tête-à-tête with the latter.
Bernhard was extremely animated. He spoke with more energy and fluency than usual, and Thea thought, "Perhaps he is now choosing the career for which he is best fitted, and it is silly and petty of me not to rejoice in it." When he looked towards her inquiringly, she nodded with a smile; but still it seemed to her as though there were another shadow rising between her husband and herself.
CHAPTER XIII.
A PERIOD PUT TO A LONG ROW OF FIGURES
It was a gray, rainy day. Adela was sitting at the window watching the falling drops and stroking Fidèle, who laid his head upon her knee and gaped.
"The world is very tiresome, Fidèle," said Adela, and the dog looked at his mistress out of his wise brown eyes, evidently with no disposition to gainsay her verdict.
"There is nothing to be done with papa," the girl continued, still addressing her remarks to Fidèle. "Scarcely is the election over when he buries himself in accounts, shuts himself up all day in his room, and if ever I stay with him there he is silent and distrait. I wish he had been a candidate and had been elected instead of Bernhard Eichhof; then we should have gone for the winter to Berlin, where I could have consoled myself for Jusak's loss. Poor wretch! he must go, I suppose; and it's all nonsense, for Bernhard did not need his vote; the Catholics had no chance after Herr von Wronsky withdrew his name."
The rain beat against the window-pane. Adela sighed, and then pursued her train of thought: "I wonder if it is true that Frau von Wronsky persuaded her husband to retire? It may have been so, for they say she believes in nothing and has the upper hand of him; but Thea says that's all mere gossip, and that Herr von Wronsky went to see them himself to tell them that he did not wish to oppose Bernhard, and that he would rather retire voluntarily than have any interruption of kindly feeling between them. Who can tell? The Wronskys are going to Berlin this winter, at any rate. Oh, everybody is going to Berlin; if we could only go too!" And then she thought quite naturally of Walter, who was also in Berlin. Her thoughts usually strayed in his direction, although she believed herself firmly convinced that she had reason to be very angry with him, and that she was so in reality.
Suddenly Fidèle raised his head, and Adela sprang up. A carriage drove past the window and stopped before the house.
"Thank heaven, some one is good enough to pay us a visit in this storm!" Adela exclaimed, and hurried out of the room to receive the guest. But when she reached the hall she started in surprise. There stood a tall young man, who took off his overcoat and hat and stood revealed-her brother Hugo!
"Heavens, Hugo! where do you come from?" she called out to him.
"Apparently from Berlin," he replied. "Where is my father? He is at home?"
"Yes; but how is it that-"
"Be good enough to spare me all questions for the present," Hugo rejoined, impatiently. "I have important matters to discuss with my father, and I must return to Berlin to-morrow. Is my father in his room?" And without awaiting a reply, he hurried past her and went into his father's study.
Adela involuntarily followed him thither as far as the door; then she suddenly paused, and turned away angrily.
"What can be the matter? More debts, I suppose," she said. "But-" The next moment she opened the door.
"What do you want here?" the Freiherr fairly shouted, so that she retreated in dismay.
"Curious, as women always are," Hugo said, with a shrug.
Adela shut the door behind her and ran along the passage to her room, where she threw herself into an arm-chair and burst into a passion of angry tears. Fidèle nestled close beside her, and she stroked his head.
"You love me, Fidèle, do you not?" she said, wiping away her tears. "Ah, you dumb brutes are far better than human beings!" The girl threw a shawl over her head, and, followed by the dog, ran out to the stables. "Here, at least, I know that I am welcome," she said, going from one horse to another; and finally seating herself on a bundle of straw, she propped her head on her hand, gazing in most melancholy fashion at her favourites.
"Fräulein! Fräulein Adela!" a voice near her called suddenly, and as she sprang up from her straw seat a servant entered the stable.
"Good heavens, Anton, how you look!" the girl cried, startled by the old servant's pale face. "What is the matter? What has happened?"
"Ah, Fräulein Adela, do not be frightened, but the Herr Baron has had a fainting-fit or something. I don't know-"
Adela heard not another word. Fast as her feet could carry her she ran towards the house, and was in her father's room the next moment. The Freiherr lay upon the lounge, his eyes wide open and fixed, while the housekeeper and one of the younger servants were rubbing his forehead and his hands with hartshorn. Adela took the hartshorn-bottle from the old housekeeper's trembling hand, and bent over her father. "Dear, dear papa!" she whispered. His eyes had a look of recognition in them, – a spasm passed over his face, but not a word issued from his pale lips.
"Good God! how did this happen?" Adela, trembling like an aspen leaf, asked of old Anton, who entered the room.
"I do not know," he whispered. "The Herr Lieutenant arrived suddenly, and they were talking very loud together, and as I was carrying the Herr Lieutenant's portmanteau past the door the Herr Baron said, 'I cannot!' and the Herr Lieutenant cried, 'It must be done!' And then, when I had passed by, I suddenly heard a heavy fall, and the Herr Lieutenant called me."
"My poor, poor father!" Adela whispered, bending over him again. She thought she understood it all now, and glanced furtively at her brother, who, having despatched a mounted messenger for the doctor, now entered the room and approached his father. The Freiherr cast upon him a glance of such utter agony, and his agitation so evidently increased at sight of his son, that Adela said, "Go out of his sight, Hugo; it is best that he should not see you."
This time she encountered no angry reply, but Hugo quietly obeyed her, and retreated to the recess of the window, where he threw himself into an arm-chair and sat motionless for the next fifteen minutes, his head buried in his hands, as if his spirit were far away and his body only present beside the couch whereon his father lay-through his fault.
At last the doctor arrived, and explained that the Herr Baron was suffering from a stroke that had paralyzed his tongue and his right arm. Adela and old Anton never stirred from beside him, while Hugo wandered restlessly about the house, now looking through his father's papers and locking up those still scattered about, now taking down the weapons that hung upon the wall to examine them, and often opening the Freiherr's case of pistols and passing his fingers over the smooth steel barrels.
After midnight the Freiherr fell asleep, and Adela's eyes, too, closed, and her head fell back against the high arm-chair in which she sat. Hugo was in the next room, but no sound betrayed his presence there. He was sitting at the table, upon which stood the open case of pistols, and his head was buried in his hands. Fiery balls that turned into long rows of figures seemed to dance before his eyes. Longer and longer grew these rows; there seemed to be no end to them.
"And he can pay nothing more; he is bankrupt," Hugo muttered, clenching his fist convulsively. "There will be no more Hohensteins at Rollin." He had so often despised his home, and now he suddenly became conscious of how closely the name of the estate was connected with that of the family who had owned it for two hundred years. And again the long rows of figures danced before his eyes. Could no period be put to them? Yes, one-in the shape of a small round ball. He shuddered and shrank back, – his hand had touched the cold barrel of a pistol. He opened his eyes for an instant, but closed them again, and-another period that might be put to the endless row of figures hovered before him. It was round, too, in form, but instead of a ball it was a ring. He sprang up, pushed away the case of pistols, and, going to the writing-table, took a sheet of paper, and began to write. Suddenly he noticed that the paper was edged with black. He threw it aside and took another sheet. The sick man was still sleeping. Adela's head had sunk farther back in her chair; she was dreaming that her father had been thrown from his horse and was lying lifeless on the ground. Then some one suddenly came between her father and herself and-laughed. It was a bitter, terrible laugh. Adela started in terror, and rubbed her eyes.
The same low laugh came from the next room.
She shuddered, rose, and went to the door. There she saw her brother sitting at the writing-desk. The open case of pistols was on the table behind him, and before him lay a letter which he was folding to put into an envelope, while the bitter smile had not yet faded from his face. A fearful thought flashed upon the girl's mind. With a timid glance at the open case, she hurried across the room and laid her hand upon her brother's shoulder.
"For heaven's sake, Hugo, tell me what you are going to do!" He shook off her hand.
"Go!" he said. "It is the only means of salvation!"
"Would you add suicide to all the other misfortunes overwhelming us?"
Again there came the laugh, the echo of which had roused her from sleep.
"On the contrary," he said, "there will be joy throughout the family, and you will shortly have an opportunity to figure as a bridesmaid."
"Oh, Hugo, how can you think of such things?"
"These are just the things that I must think about, or we should soon cease to have need for thought of any kind. But you know nothing of it. Go to your father, and leave the rest to me."
Adela fixed her eyes on a white sheet of paper, edged with black, that lay on the writing-desk, and on which she read the words, "My dear Councillor, I am a man of few words, and therefore frankly ask of you the hand of-"
Hugo seized the paper and tore it in pieces.
"There is no need for you to look so horrified," he said. "Fräulein Kohnheim is a very pretty girl; her parents had her baptized some time ago; and her father could pay the debts of an entire regiment if he chose."
"Hugo!"
"Leave me in peace, and be thankful that there is one way out of this for all of us. To-morrow morning this letter goes; to-morrow evening I go, and the next day our troubles will all be over."
"And papa?"
"Our father will soon recover; the doctor says so. A first stroke is never so dangerous-"
"Adela!" a weak voice called at this moment.
"You see he has already recovered his speech, as the doctor said he would," said Hugo.
Adela flew to her father's side and covered his hand with kisses. For a moment her brother was forgotten; she only felt that a change for the better had come, that her father would recover, and that he had wanted her-her; that the first use he had made of his returning voice had been to call his daughter!