"I do not doubt all this, but what is----"
"And as to my roughness," continued Hagenbach, without heeding the interruption, "it is only outwardly so. In the main I am a regular lamb."
Leonie looked very incredulous at this a.s.sertion and listened with increasing surprise.
"All in all, a man with whom one might live happily," wound up the doctor with great self-complacency. "Do not you agree with me that this is so?"
"Why, yes, but----"
"Well, then say "yes," then the story is done."
Leonie started from her chair and blushed crimson.
"Doctor--what does this mean?"
"What does it mean? Ah, yes, I have quite forgotten to make you a regular offer. But that will do to repeat. There, now--I offer you my hand and beg for your consent--let us shake hands on it!"
He stretched out his hand, but the lady of his choice drew three steps back and said sharply: "You must take account of my surprise; I have really never deemed it possible that you could honor me with an offer."
"You think so, because you have nerves!" said Hagenbach, quite unconcernedly. "Oh, that is nothing, I"ll soon rid you of them, because I am a doctor."
"I only regret that I shall give you no opportunity for this," was the cool response, that made the doctor open his eyes in astonishment.
"Am I to consider this as a rejection?" asked he, dejectedly.
"If you choose to call it so. At all events it is the answer to your offer put so respectfully and with such uncommon tenderness."
The doctor"s face lengthened considerably. He had, most a.s.suredly, not deemed it necessary to impose a bridle upon his well-known bluntness, and to make any circ.u.mlocution in his courtship. He knew very well that, in spite of his years and his gray hairs, he was "a good match,"
and that more than one lady of his acquaintance was ready to share his station in life and his property, and here where his offer was doubtless a great, hardly-dreamed-of, piece of good fortune for the portionless girl, he was unceremoniously discarded! He believed that he had not heard aright.
"You actually then reject my offer?" he asked.
"I regret to have to decline the honor destined for me."
There ensued a brief pause. Hagenbach looked alternately upon Leonie and upon the desk, or rather the portrait over it, but then his restrained vexation got the better of him.
"Why?" asked he brusquely.
"That is my affair."
"Excuse me, it is my affair, if I am discarded: I want, at least, to know wherefore."
At every question put, he took one step forward, and at last made such demonstrations against the portrait, that Leonie planted herself in front of it, as if for a shield.
"If you lay such great stress upon it," said she, suppressing her tears, "be it so, then. Yes, Engelbert was my betrothed, whom I shall eternally bewail. He stayed in the family as tutor where I was governess, our spirits were congenial and we plighted our troth."
"That must have been very touching," growled Hagenbach, fortunately so softly that Leonie did not hear him; she continued with quavering voice:
"Engelbert then went as traveling-companion to Egypt; there it came over him like a revelation, and he determined to devote the rest of his life to the conversion of the poor heathen. He magnanimously gave me back my word, which I would not accept, however, but declared myself ready to share with him his hard, self-sacrificing vocation. It was not to be! He wrote me once more before his departure for the interior of Africa, and then"--her voice broke into sobs--"then I heard nothing more of him."
Hagenbach did not at all share in this grief; he rather felt an extraordinary satisfaction over it, viz., that the aforesaid betrothed lover and converter of the heathen was really dead and out of the way; but the narration mitigated his displeasure. It took away every insulting feature of the rejection. He fell into a reconcilable mood, that extended even to his rival.
"Peace to his ashes!" said he. "But one day you will cease to bewail him, and not spend all your days grieving over him. That may have been the fashion in Werther"s time, but at the end of the nineteenth century the betrothed sheds the usual tears over the departed lover, and then takes another one--if such an one, perchance, there be. In our case, he is here and repeats his offer. So, then, Leonie, will you have me? Yes or no?"
"No!" said Leonie, drawing herself up indignantly. "If I did not know what I possessed in the tender, devoted love of my Engelbert, your courtship would show me. Perhaps you would not have approached any other lady in such an--unceremonious fashion, but the lonely, faded girl, the poor, dependent teacher, must esteem it great good luck if a "good support" is offered her. To what end use formalities? But I have too high a regard for matrimony to consider it only from this point of view. I would rather remain as I am, poor and dependent, than be the wife of a man, who, not even as a lover, thinks it worth his while to treat me with proper respect.--And now, Doctor, we may consider our interview as closed." She made him a bow and left the room.
Hagenbach stood there, confounded, watching her disappearing figure.
"That is what you call being lectured," said he. "And I have quietly submitted to it. As for the rest, she did not look bad in her excitement, with her crimsoned cheeks and flashing eyes. Humph! I didn"t know how pretty she is.--Yes, these cursed bachelor-ways! One is utterly ruined by them."
CHAPTER XV.
A WEDDING DAY.
At Odensburg, flags were flying, cannon being fired off from the surrounding heights, and triumphal arches, wreaths of evergreen, and flowers, everywhere greeted the young bridal-pair who had just returned, after the performance of the marriage-ceremony.
The service had taken place in the somewhat remote church of Saint Eustace, where Dernburg, too, had once stood before the altar with his own bride. Now the wedding-procession came back, a long line of carriages, at the head of which drove the equipage of the newly-married couple.
The works were silent to-day, as a matter of course, the workmen forming a lane all the way to the Manor-house, and the golden sunshine of this beautiful day in late summer enhanced the merriment and jollity that had taken possession of Odensburg to its utmost bounds upon this great occasion.
Now the carriage drove through the grand triumphal arch, that made a gorgeous display with its banners and green wreaths, drawing up in front of the terrace. Eric lifted his bride out. The foot of that young woman trod literally on flowers, which had been scattered along her path in profusion. The entrance-hall was transformed into a garden blooming with sweet blossoms, and the entertaining-rooms, now thrown wide open for the reception of their new mistress, were likewise adorned.
Dernburg followed, with his sister on his arm, his features betraying deep emotion, when he embraced his son and daughter-in-law. He had offered a costly sacrifice, when he consented to the separation and lasting abode of the young pair in the South, but the infinite rapture depicted upon Eric"s face indemnified the father for it, in some measure. Then Dernburg"s glance fell upon Maia, who now entered by Wildenrod"s side. He surveyed the proud bearing and handsome appearance of the man, who seemed just fitted, one day, to be the presiding genius of Odensburg. He saw the sweet countenance of his darling equally illumined by the light of joy, and then the shadow pa.s.sed away also from his own brow. Fate offered him full indemnity for what he had to give up.
Maia flew into her brother"s arms and then kissed her beautiful sister-in-law with the greatest tenderness. Oscar, too, embraced the young pair, but as he stooped down to Cecilia, he gave her a dark look, half-solicitous, half-threatening: and she must have felt this, too, for she slightly shuddered, and by a quick movement, extricated herself from his arms.
Not much time was allowed, however, for family greetings, inasmuch as other carriages now drove up to the door, and the wedding-guests began to a.s.semble. The newly-married pair were congratulated upon all sides and soon formed the center of the brilliant circle that had collected here. None of the prominent people in the neighborhood were missing, with the solitary exception of Count Eckardstein, who had declined the invitation.
The young husband was inexpressibly happy. On this day, that had witnessed the fulfillment of his most ardent desires, his health also seemed to have been given back to him. He no longer looked sickly and broken. With flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, he accepted, with smiles, the congratulations offered him, and exhibited a cheerfulness and animation, that visually did not belong to his nature. His eyes continually turned to her, who had just linked her destiny with his own, as though he could not exist a moment without beholding her loved face.
And this admiration was pardonable enough. Cecilia looked radiantly beautiful in her bridal attire. The white satin gown, costly lace veil, and--Eric"s present---the diamonds that sparkled on neck and arms, enhanced the peculiar charm of her appearance. Only her beautiful face looked strangely pale beneath her myrtle-crown. She too smiled and bowed, in acknowledgment of the congratulations that were spoken, and uttered the usual grateful speeches; but there was something forced and cold in that smile, and her voice was without ring. Fortunately this attracted n.o.body"s attention, for the right to look pale and serious was allowed a bride.
The director of the Odensburg works and Dr. Hagenbach, who were both among the guests, stood in a window, somewhat apart. The former had undertaken the superintendence of the festal arrangements, with which the employes meant to compliment the son of their chief upon his wedding-day. All had succeeded beyond their expectations,--the triumphal arches, the decoration of the road to the church, the delegations, and congratulatory addresses in prose and verse, which had been partly attended to the day before. The main thing, however, was yet to come--the grand holiday parade of the workmen themselves, who were just now forming into line out of doors. The director was mildly excited because his management had been called in question, and spoke in a low, and forcible manner to the doctor, who, however, listened abstractedly and often looked across at the young pair, who were still surrounded by a circle of friends.
"I only wish the parade had been appointed for yesterday," said he, in a low tone. "The procession will be more than an hour in pa.s.sing by, and all that time the bridal pair will be kept out upon the terrace. It is too much upon Eric. The ceremony, the parade, then the state dinner, and finally the leave-taking. From the first, I have been opposed to these great and noisy festivities, but was out-voted on all sides. Even Herr Dernburg wanted the entertainment to be as magnificent as possible."
"That is quite in the nature of things, at the wedding of his only son," suggested the director, "and the partic.i.p.ation of the Odensburg hands was not to be rejected. I think we shall gratify him with our procession; it must make a fine show in the bright sunlight. As for the rest, I cannot understand your solicitude about the young master. He looks splendidly--I have never seen him as cheerful and fresh-looking as to-day."
"That is the very thing that makes me uneasy. There is something feverish in his excitement, and in his condition any excitement is poison. Would that he were now quietly seated in the carriage by his wife"s side, having left all this jubilation behind them."
They were interrupted by a servant announcing that the procession was ready to move, only awaiting the appearance of the family. The director stepped up to the young couple, and in the name of all the Odensburg employes, asked them to accept their homage.
Eric smiled, and offered his arm to his young wife, that he might escort her to the terrace. Dernburg and the guests joined them.
That was a fascinating panorama on a grand scale that now unfolded itself before their eyes, out of doors, in the bright noonday sun. The chief officers stood at the foot of the terrace, while their subordinates headed single groups of the gay procession, which had taken its position on the broad piece of level ground extending up to the works, and now put itself in motion.