CHAPTER XVIII.
The Rival Lovers
At the entrance of the park a heavy tread became audible, and a giant form loomed up behind the latticed gate. Frederic's huge figure well became his uniform, and he seemed to be aware of this, for there was an inconcealable self-esteem in the rigid military bearing, with which he approached both gentlemen.
"Herr Lieutenant, I come to announce to you that down in the city a carriage has just arrived with some English people, who wish to pass through our lines to the mountains."
Fernow turned quickly, revery and melancholy had all at once vanished; he was now every inch a soldier. "That is impossible!" he said. "No one must pass."
"So the Englishman has been told; but he will not submit. He has papers," he says, "and wishes to speak with the Major or the Lieutenant who is upon duty."
Fernow glanced at his watch. "Very well," he said, "I will come; I must, in any event, now go to the village. It is a very unpleasant duty," he added, turning to the surgeon, "I must send back harmless travellers whom perhaps important business urges forward, but the orders are strict and cannot be evaded."
"Unpleasant, do you call it?" laughed the surgeon. "It gives me great satisfaction to show these arrogant sons of Albion who, with their impudence and blasé manners, spread themselves over our whole Rhine country, who is lord and master here. In their own land, unfortunately, we have never ventured it."
"Are you going with me to the village!"
"No, I am going back to the castle. I leave you alone to manage your Englishmen and your triumph; for the latter that priggish volunteer, that E., has already cared. He snatched your poem from me to read to his comrades. And listen, Walter, when you have gone your rounds, come for half an hour at least, to our quarters. You are falling past rescue in the esteem of our captain, who alone refuses to recognize in you a future celebrity,–you do not drink enough for him."
With a laughing adieu, the surgeon returned to the castle, while Fernow started for the village. Frederic stamped on behind not taking his eyes for a moment from his master. But these eyes had an entirely changed expression. Once they had gazed at the professor, only with the anxiety one shows in guarding a sick, helpless child that may easily come to harm; now there lay a silent awe, a boundless admiration in the glance which followed the slightest motion of the "Lieutenant." The devotion of the faithful servant had withstood more than a fiery trial; it had become proverbial in the company.
At the entrance of the village, before an inn, halted two carriages which had arrived, one after the other. The first, which had come a quarter of an hour soonest, had been first ordered back, but its occupants would not submit to the necessity imposed upon them. Unfortunately, he understood no German, the soldiers no English, and they were obliged to carry on their conversation in the most execrable French–a very difficult and tedious proceeding. But the stranger, who resorted to his papers, had at last succeeded in obtaining a promise that his case should be laid before the proper officer, and still excited by the conversation, with grim forehead and contracted eyebrows, he had just entered the door of the inn, when the second carriage drove up. A gentleman stepped from it and approached the house. The eyes of the two met, and an expression of surprise broke at the same moment from the lips of each.
"Mr. Atkins!"
"Henry!"
"How come you here?" asked Alison, who was first to recover from his astonishment.
"I came from N. And you?"
"Direct from Paris! I dared not remain there longer, the investment began to grow serious. But I have been detained here; they will not allow me to continue my journey."
"And they will not allow us to pass."
"Us!" repeated Alison slowly. "Are you not alone?!" And as if startled by a sudden idea, he added hastily: "I cannot hope to find Miss Forest in your company?"
"Yes, she comes with me."
Alison was about to rush to the carriage, but he forebore. Was he abashed at the involuntary movement, or was it the remembrance of their last meeting, that all at once allayed his excitement? Enough, he controlled his emotion, and with a calmness all too indifferent to be natural, he turned again to Atkins.
"And how came you, and above all Miss Forest, here at the theatre of war?"
Atkins had foreseen the question, and was prepared. "How? Well, we wished for an inside view of the war; but in a week's time we have become weary enough of it and as you see, are now upon our return home. Doctor and Mrs. Stephen will be triumphant; they were beside themselves at what they called Miss Jane's eccentricities and my compliance."
A cold mocking smile played around Alison's lips. "But I am not so credulous as Doctor and Mrs. Stephen. This excuse may satisfy them, but I know Miss Jane too well to suppose her guilty of so aimless and romantic a thirst for adventure. She would be the last to undertake such a journey, and she would hardly have found in you so obsequious an escort."
Atkins bit his lips. He might have foreseen the answer.
"Will you have the kindness to explain to me the reason of Miss Forest's coming here?" asked Alison, even more sharply than before.
"Ask her yourself!" cried Atkins angrily. He thought it best to throw the entire responsibility upon Jane rather than betray any of her motives.
"I will do so!" replied Henry morosely, and stepped to the carriage.
His appearance had by this time ceased to be a surprise to Jane; she had seen him leave the house and enter into conversation with Atkins. She at once gained complete mastery over herself. Whatever might have passed through her soul during these last momentous hours. Mr. Alison saw only a perfectly immovable face, upon which was no trace of anxiety or passion. She had again enveloped herself in that icy dignity which had made her so unapproachable in B., and this ice now froze Henry as he stepped to the carriage to greet her. This manner decided Alison's whole bearing. He could in a case of necessity, enforce a right; but he was too proud to betray an affection in the face of such coldness.
With chilling politeness, he lifted her from the carriage, offered her his arm, and conducted her to a bench before the inn, while in a few words he informed her and Atkins that the matter in dispute had been referred to the proper officer, and he hoped that after an examination of their papers, no further hindrance would be placed in the way of their journey.
Atkins seemed to be of the same opinion; he went back to the carriage to give the driver some directions, leaving the two alone.
Jane had thrown herself down upon the bench; she knew that an explanation of her presence here would be demanded. Was she inclined to give it? It did not appear that she was.
Henry showed no haste to question her, he only gazed searchingly into her face; but it was in vain, she remained calm beneath his glance.
"It was a great surprise to me to find you here, Jane!" he began at last.
"And your coming was one to me. I expected no such meeting."
"Under the circumstances, my return was to be expected, I intended to go directly to B. where I certainly hoped to find you; but the place seems to possess small attractions for you."
In spite of the sharp scrutiny of his manner, it still betrayed an involuntary satisfaction; although Miss Forest gave him no explanation, he would far rather see her here in the midst of this tumult of war and exposed to its dangers, than safe at home with her relations in B.
Jane was spared an answer, for at this moment, Atkins returned; Henry frowned, but did not seem inclined to speak upon this subject in the presence of a third person. For some minutes there was an uncomfortable silence in the little group; further questions over the where and when were in the minds of all, and yet each avoided uttering them. Atkins at last began to converse on another subject.
"And what say you of the events which have taken place since we parted? Had you ever dreamed them possible?"
"No!" was the short, morose answer. "I was quite of the contrary opinion."
"And so was I! We judged wrongly, as it appears! This is the tame, patient, unpractical nation of thinkers! But I always said that in every one of these Germans lay hidden something of the bearish nature, and this seems now to have broken out all at once, among the whole people. It is no longer a struggle with changing fortunes; they throw down and crush all that comes in their way. An unblest success!"
"But we are not at the end yet," said Alison coldly. "The Emperor's mercenary hordes are beaten, but the republic summon the whole land to arms; nation now stands arrayed against nation. We shall yet see if the German bear does not at last find his master!"
"I wish he would find him!" growled Atkins surlily. "I wish he could be driven back over his Rhine, so that the intoxication and pride of victory might for all time be taken from him, and he again learn to dance tamely and patiently as when–"
The American got no further in his pious wishes for the future weal of Germany. Jane had suddenly risen, and stood erect and tall before him; her eyes flamed down upon the little man as if she would annihilate him.
"You quite forgot Mr. Atkins, that I too am a German by birth, and the child of German parents," she said.
Atkins stood there as if thunderstruck. "You, Miss Jane?" he asked, scarce believing his ears.
"Yes, I! and I will not hear my fatherland spoken of in this way. Keep your revilings and your hopes for Mr. Alison's ears; he shares your wishes; but do not utter them in my presence; I will bear it no longer!"
And throwing back her head with a gesture of lofty scorn, she turned away from the two men, and vanished inside the door of the house.
"What was that?" asked Alison, after a momentary pause.
Atkins seemed just to have recovered from the consternation into which this scene had thrown him. "That was the father once again! Mr. Forest just as he lived and moved! That was the very tone, the very glance with which he so imperiously felled down all that opposed him! I have never before encountered this in Jane; have you, Henry?"
Alison was silent; his eyes, with a consuming glow, had rested upon Jane during the whole, time she had stood before Atkins; they now seemed fixed upon the place where she had vanished, and there was far, very far more of admiration than of anger in their glance.
"I thought Mr. Forest hated his fatherland," he said at last, slowly, "and that he educated his daughter in that hatred."
"Oh, yes, he quarrelled with Germany his whole life long, and in his dying hour, like a despairing man, clung to its remembrance. We never thoroughly learn to know this people, Henry! I was for twenty years in Forest's house, I shared sorrow and joy with him, I knew his most secret affairs; and still, forever and eternally, one thing lay between us, this one which the most bitter experiences, the most energetic will, which the associations of twenty years could not banish from the father's heart, and which now bursts its barriers in the daughter who has inherited all this, whose education is American through and through:–this German blood!"
They were interrupted. The officer they had been expecting now appeared in the village street, accompanied by a soldier. Henry advanced some steps to meet him, and saluted him politely; then summoning all his bad French he began to explain his embarrassments; but after the first hasty words, he spoke more slowly, then stopped, began anew, and stopped again, and at last was wholly silent; his eyes fixed, staring, and immovable, upon the face of the officer.
He too was equally surprised; he stepped back a few paces, but in so doing, he had also approached Mr. Atkins, who now, with an expression of mingled surprise and terror, cried:
"Professor Fernow!"
Henry trembled; this outcry gave him a certainty as to whose eyes they were which had beamed upon him from under the helmet. Every drop of blood vanished from the face of the young American; with one single glance he took in the whole appearance of the officer standing before him; a second flew back to the house where Jane still lingered. He seemed to comprehend something. A wild half suppressed "Ah!" broke from his lips, then he set his teeth firmly, and was silent. Atkins had meantime saluted Lieutenant Fernow, who with calm politeness now turned to both gentlemen.
"I regret that it must be I who announce to you unpleasant tidings; but the desired continuation of your journey is impossible. No one can pass; the guards have strict orders to make everyone turn back, whoever he may be."
"But, Professor Fernow, we must go on!" said Atkins in vexation, "and you know us well enough to assure the authorities that we are not spies."
"It is impossible to make any exceptions. I am sorry, Mr. Atkins, but the passes are guarded, and no civilian is allowed to pass from this side into the mountain region. It is possible the order may be recalled to-morrow, as we are expecting re-inforcements; but to-day, it stands in full force."
"Well, then, you will at least have the goodness to inform us where, according to your august decision, we are to pass the night. We cannot go back; the several places through which we have passed are thronged with soldiers, and we are not allowed to go forward; here in the village we can scarce count upon entertainment. Are we to camp in our carriages?"
"That will not be necessary. You are–alone?"
There should have been no question in these words; the answer was self-evident; still there lay in them an unconscious hesitation.
Atkins was about to answer, but Alison cut short his reply. He had made his conclusion.
"Yes," he said very emphatically.
"Then I think I can offer you the hospitality of my comrades. We have room enough in the castle, and our acquaintanceship," here a smile flitted over his face, "guards you from every possible suspicion. Excuse me just for a moment."
He stepped to the guard standing near, and exchanged a word with him.
"And this is the former professor of B. University!" muttered Atkins with suppressed anger. "The bookworm has such a military bearing, one would think he had all his life carried a sword at his side; and there is not the least trace of the consumption to be seen about him now."
"But for God's sake, Henry, explain to me what you are telling that falsehood for–"
"Silence!" interrupted Alison in a low, passionate voice. "No word to him of the presence of Miss Forest, not a syllable! I will be back in a moment."
He vanished in the house; Atkins gazed after him shaking his head.
Now it was Alison who was becoming incomprehensible.
Fernow had meantime returned. "Has your young countryman left us?" he asked after a hasty glance around.
"He will return directly," said Atkins, and in fact, Henry now stepped out of the doorway. Jane was leaning on his arm, and he was talking to her so excitedly and persistently, that she did not notice the figure of the young officer who stood with his back to her, until she was close to him. Then Fernow turned around.
For a moment, the two stood opposite each other, in silent, breathless astonishment. But then as it were the brightest sunshine overspread Walter's face; his blue eyes gleamed with a passionate ardor, and lighted up with an infinite happiness; the whole nature of this man seemed all aglow with one mighty emotion;–the moment of reunion had betrayed all.
But other emotions were mirrored in Jane's eyes. She shrank back affrighted and deathly pale, and would have fallen, if Alison had not supported her. His arm held hers in an iron grasp, he pressed this arm against his breast, firmly and convulsively, but she felt it not. His eyes fastened themselves penetratingly upon both, not even the quiver of an eyelash escaped him, and a terrible expression, icy and of evil omen, lay upon his face. He needed no word, no declaration–he knew enough.
Fernow was first to recover his self-possession. He had looked only at Jane, not at Alison; he saw her alone.
"Miss Forest, I did not dream that I should also meet you here!" he said.
At the first tones of his voice, Henry felt from the contact of the hand resting upon his arm that Jane trembled from head to foot; he let the hand slowly fall, and this movement restored her equanimity.
"Professor Fernow–indeed–we supposed your regiment was already on the way to Paris."
The tone was abrupt and cold, and her glance shunned his; Jane knew that if she now met those eyes, all was lost.
The sunshine vanished from Walter's face; his eyes fell, and the old melancholy again returned. "We were ordered back to guard the passes," he said. His glance still sought hers, but always in vain.
"And so the repulsion we have met came from you? It must be your duty, Professor Fernow, and we submit." And with the last remnant of strength that was left her, Jane turned away from him and went back to Mr. Atkins.
Fernow's lips quivered. This was again the cold, unapproachable Miss Forest, and that moment of separation, which waking or dreaming, had never left his soul, which in all these storms and dangers, he had carried ever with him; even that moment was forgotten, vanished from her remembrance; she shrank from his glance as from something inimical, hated. That evening upon the Ruènberg again arose before him, and now as then, pride conquered bitterness. He turned away.
"Frederic!"
"Herr Lieutenant!"
"You will conduct this lady and these two gentlemen to the castle, to the Surgeon. Mr. Atkins will explain all to him, and he will communicate further with the major, Mr. Atkins, you know Doct. Behrend of B. I must confide you to his care; my duties for the present detain me in the village; I therefore beg you to excuse me."
Touching his military cap, he bade his adieux with a salutation designed for all three, and then strode hastily past the house to the meadow where the first outposts stood.
It was with a feeling of infinite satisfaction that Frederic placed himself at the head of the American trio, to conduct them to the castle. Of the conversation, which had been carried on in English, he had naturally understood nothing, and was therefore firmly convinced the hated individuals consigned to him by his lieutenant, were spies or traitors, upon whose secure keeping the salvation of the whole regiment hung. Proud and triumphant at the mission intrusted to him, with the most rigid military bearing, with head erect, he strode on, ready at the least effort at flight, to make use of his musket.
Happily, the Americans undertook nothing of the kind. The young pair went silently on ahead, without exchanging even a word; but Mr. Atkins, giving the escort a side glance, said sarcastically:
"See here, Mr. Frederic, for good or ill we are now entirely in your hands."
Frederic with immense self-importance looked down upon the little man; now indeed he was lord and master, but his mood became somewhat more gentle as he saw that the haughty American so perfectly understood his position.
"My lieutenant has ordered it!" he said emphatically; "and where my lieutenant is concerned, nothing happens wrong."
"You take a burden from my heart," said Atkins mockingly. "I am infinitely obliged to you for the gratifying intelligence that we are neither to be thrown into a dungeon nor bound in chains; but my best Mr. Frederic, this metamorphose of your lieutenant borders on the fabulous. The professor has become a military hero from head to foot. His learned Eminence now understands, as it seems, excellently, how to command, and already in six weeks, has learned to throw out orders about posts, and arrangements and comrades, as if he had grown up in the field, instead of in the study. What has his Highness done then with his former timidity and absent-mindedness?"
"Left it in B.," returned Frederic dryly, "with his books!"
At this answer, Atkins gazed at Frederic in utter astonishment.– "Has the fellow really become intelligent!" he muttered. "Nothing now can happen after this!"
The vaunted intelligence was soon enough to have a trial. Ten minutes later, Frederic appeared on the terrace, where, with the exception of the major, who at this moment was in the castle, the other officers were sitting together. He marched right up to the surgeon. "I come from Herr Lieutenant Fernow! He sends you three spies, and wishes you to consult further with the major."
"Are you mad?" cried the surgeon with a loud laugh. "What am I to do with the spies? Are they wounded?"
"No, they are all three sound and healthy."
"Frederic, this is only another of your stupid freaks!" said the captain, thoughtfully draining his glass. "To the major, the lieutenant must have said."
"He said I must take them to the doctor," persisted Frederic, "because he comes from B. The niece of Doctor Stephen, the American Miss, is one of them."
"Miss Forest!" cried the surgeon, starting up. "Heaven and earth! Then Walter has a supreme happiness. Destiny now brings him the prize of war, and he cares nothing for it at all; sends the lady up here to us through an escort,–nobody in the whole world but Walter Fernow is capable of this!"
"Miss Forest! Who is Miss Forest? Tell us at once, Doctor!" echoed from all sides.
"Do not detain me, gentlemen!" cried the doctor excitedly. "I must go, for as it appears, a stupid error has been committed. Would you know who Miss Forest is? A relative of our first physician in B.; a young American lady, heiress to a million, twenty years old, beautiful as a picture, a meteor, which all B. admires and adores, and whose unhappy devotee I also confess myself to be. God be gracious to you Frederic, if you have been guilty of an incivility to her!"
He hastened away. But the brief sketches he had thrown off of Miss Forest, had electrified the whole company. The words, 'millionaire, twenty years old, beautiful as a picture,' had fallen like so many firebrands into the ears and hearts of the younger officers, and they all at once vowed to make the acquaintance of this interesting personage. But the æsthetic major rose solemnly and followed with long strides. The affair promised to be immensely romantic.
"Frederic," said the fat captain, who had been sitting at his drinking bowl in perfect repose of mind. "Frederic, you have again been guilty of a precious piece of stupidity."
Frederic stood there with open mouth, annihilated, quite cast down from the height of his self-importance. He threw a bewildered glance towards the entrance of the park, where his "spies" had been received with the most respectful politeness, and a second melancholy one upon the officer sitting near him, and lowering his head, he said with mournful acquiescence:
"I am at your command, Herr Captain."