"Ah, that other would never lay claim to so cold and distant a sentiment as admiration," he protested. "He hopes to awaken far different emotions in a kindred soul."
Gretchen saw that rudeness availed her nothing. Hubert was steering steadily, perseveringly, straight ahead towards a declaration. The girl, however, had no wish to listen to him; it was disagreeable to her to have to say No, so she struck in with the first question which came into her mind.
"You have not told me anything of your famous uncle in J---- for a long time. What is he about now?"
The a.s.sessor, who saw in this question a proof of her interest in his family affairs, entered promptly into the subject.
"My poor uncle has had much vexation and worry of late," he replied.
"There exists at the University a party of opposition--what truly great man has not his enemies?--at the head of which stands Professor Weber.
This gentleman lays himself out to gain popularity, and the students entertain a blind predilection for him. Every one vaunts his amiable character, and my uncle, who disdains such artifices and cares nothing for public opinion, meets with enmity and ill-will on every side. Just now the opposition party, for no other purpose than to spite him, are crying up some obscure person who has just published his first work; they have even the audacity to declare that this novice"s book is superior to Schwarz"s writings on Teutonism."
"Impossible!" said Gretchen. "Superior to my uncle"s writings,"
repeated the a.s.sessor, with generous indignation. "I do not know the author"s name, nor the circ.u.mstances of the case--my uncle is not fond of going into details in his letters--but the matter has vexed him to such a degree, and his dispute with Professor Weber has a.s.sumed such proportions, that he has thought fit to tender his resignation. It is, of course, nothing but a menace; they would never let him go--the University would suffer far too great a loss by his withdrawal--but he considers it necessary to put some pressure on the personages in question."
"I wish it Would take effect," said Gretchen, with such a wrathful expression that Hubert drew back a step in his surprise, only to advance two the next minute, however.
"It makes me very happy to see you take such an interest in my uncle"s welfare. He, too, is already most kindly disposed towards you. I have often mentioned in my letters the family at whose house I find so hospitable a welcome, and he would be delighted to hear that I was to be connected ..."
He had got so far on the road again, when the girl jumped up in desperation, ran to the open piano, and began to play; but she undervalued her suitor"s persistency. Next moment he was at her side, listening to her.
"Ah, the "Longings of the Heart" waltzes, my favourite piece. Yes, music is the language which best renders the feelings of the soul; is it not so, Fraulein Margaret?"
Fraulein Margaret thought that to-day everything had conspired together against her. This was, as it happened, the only piece she knew by heart, and she dared not get up and run to fetch her notes, for the a.s.sessor"s looks plainly said that he was only waiting for a pause in her performance to give vent to the feelings of his soul in words. So the "Longings of the Heart" waltzes raged over the piano to the time of a galop. The noise was fearful, and a string broke; but no matter, such a din must drown any love declaration.
"Ought this to be fortissimo, do you think?" Hubert ventured to remark.
"I always fancied the piece should be played in a soft, melting piano."
"I play it fortissimo," declared Gretchen, and banged on the notes so violently that the second string broke.
The a.s.sessor was growing rather nervous. "You will spoil this beautiful instrument," said he, making himself heard with difficulty.
"What are pianos in the world for?" cried Gretchen; and, seeing that the musical uproar was disagreeable to the a.s.sessor, she raised it to an almost incredible pitch, and deliberately sacrificed a third string.
At last her strategy succeeded. Hubert saw that he would not be allowed to speak to-day, and beat a retreat, a little annoyed, but with unshaken confidence. The young lady had nursed him with such touching care when he was ill with his cold, and to-day she had spoken of him as a remarkably clever man, and had reproached him with lacking self-confidence. True, her waywardness defied all calculation; but she loved him nevertheless.
When he had gone, Gretchen stood up and shut the piano. "Three strings broken!" said she, dolefully, but yet with a certain satisfaction; "never mind, I have managed once more to keep him from making his offer. Now papa may settle the rest." With that she sat down at her work-table once more, brought out her book, and plunged anew into the "History of Teutonism!"
CHAPTER IX.
Some hours after the incidents recorded in the last chapter Waldemar Nordeck was returning from L----, to which place he had ridden over in the morning. He had now often occasion to go there, a much closer intercourse being kept up in these days between the town and the Castle. The fact that the border-forests were included in the Wilicza territory, and that the population of those districts was strongly distrusted, necessitated frequent conferences and consultations as to the measures to be adopted, and the President knew too well what an energetic supporter he had in the young proprietor not to receive him at all times with the greatest favour. Waldemar had called on him to-day, and had met at his house some of the higher officials and officers of the L---- garrison. These gentlemen had one and all found themselves confirmed in their opinion that young Nordeck was the coldest, the most imperious of men. Any one else would have been galled, oppressed by the hostile att.i.tude in which he stood to his own mother and brother; but he did not appear in the least affected by it.
He was as ever, grave, reserved; but determined and ready to abide to the uttermost by the position he had once chosen.
Waldemar had, indeed, every reason to show this calm front to strangers. He knew that his situation with regard to his mother, and the terms they were on together, formed the staple of daily talk in L----, and that the most marvellous reports were current on the subject. He was resolved at all events not to furnish fresh food for gossip. But now that he was alone and un.o.bserved, a troubled look had settled on his face, and his brow was as darkly clouded as it had been serene before. Absorbed in his thoughts, he was advancing at a foot-pace, when, at a meeting of cross-roads, he half mechanically drew rein to let pa.s.s a sledge which was approaching at full gallop, and which next instant shot rapidly by quite close to him. Norman suddenly reared high in the air. His rider had jerked the bridle so violently that the animal, taking fright, sprang with a hasty bound to one side, alighting with its hind feet in a ditch covered with loose snow which ran parallel to the high-road. It stumbled and nearly fell with its master.
Waldemar soon brought the horse out of the ditch, and on to the main road again; but this slight mischance seemed to have robbed him, the bold, intrepid rider, of his composure. His usual self-possession quite failed him as he neared the sledge, which had drawn up on a call from the lady occupying it.
"I ask pardon if I have startled you, Countess Morynska. My horse shied at the sudden approach of yours."
Wanda was generally not very susceptible to fear, and possibly it was less alarm than surprise at the unexpected meeting--the first for three months--which drove the colour from her cheeks. Her face was very white as she asked in reply--
"You are not hurt, I hope?"
"No, I am not hurt; but my Norman ..."
He did not finish his sentence, but sprang quickly to the ground. The horse had evidently injured one of his hind feet. He held it up as though in pain, and refused to advance. Waldemar hastily examined the part affected, and then turned to the young Countess again.
"It is nothing serious," he said, in the same cold, constrained tone he had used hitherto. "I beg of you not to interrupt your journey on my account." He bowed and stepped aside to let the sledge pa.s.s.
"Will you not mount again?" asked Wanda, seeing that he threw the bridle over his arm, as though preparing to walk.
"No. Norman has sprained his foot, and limps very much. It will be painful enough for him to get on at all, he could not possibly carry a rider."
"But Wilicza is two good leagues from here," objected Wanda. "You cannot go all that way on foot, and at a slow pace."
"There will be nothing else for me," replied Waldemar, quietly. "I must at any rate get my horse on to the nearest village, where I can have it sent for."
"But it will be dark before you reach the Castle."
"That does not matter; I know the way."
The young Countess glanced at the Wilicza road which, at a little distance from the spot where they had met, disappeared into the forest.
She knew that it ran through the heart of the woods, emerging only in the immediate vicinity of the Castle.
"Would it not be better to make use of my sledge?" said she in a low voice, without looking up. "My coachman can take charge of your horse, and lead him to the nearest village."
Waldemar looked at her in amazement. The proposal seemed to surprise him strangely.
"Thank you; but you are, no doubt, on your way to Rakowicz."
"Rakowicz does not lie far out of your road," Wanda interrupted him, hastily, "and from thence you can have the conveyance to yourself." The words were spoken hurriedly, almost anxiously. Waldemar slowly let the bridle drop. Some seconds pa.s.sed before he answered.
"I should do better to go straight on to Wilicza."
"I beg of you, though, not to go on; but to come with me."
This time the anxiety in Wanda"s voice was so unmistakable that the refusal was not renewed. Waldemar gave over his horse to the coachman, who had dismounted at a sign from his mistress, and instructed him to lead it with all possible care to a certain village, and there to leave word that it should be sent for. He then mounted the sledge, swinging himself up into the driver"s seat behind, and grasping the reins. The place by the young Countess"s side remained empty.
They drove on in silence. The offer had been so simple, so natural, a decided rejection of it would have appeared singular, nay, uncourteous, between such near relatives; but easy intercourse had long since grown impossible to these two, and the unexpected meeting made their embarra.s.sment more marked and painful. Waldemar devoted his attention exclusively to the reins, and Wanda wrapped herself more closely in her furs, never once turning her head.
They were already in the beginning of March; but it seemed this year as if winter never would give way. Before taking its departure, the cruel season once more let loose all its terrors on the poor earth, lying happily expectant of spring"s first breath. A heavy snowstorm, lasting through an entire day, had clothed it anew in the white shroud of which it had so slowly and painfully divested itself. Again the country lay rigid under its pall of snow and ice, and stormy wind and freezing cold strove together for the mastery.
The storm with its thick drifting snow had subsided on that morning; but it was as gloomy and cold a winter afternoon as though the month had been December. The horses stepped out merrily, and the sledge seemed to fly over the smooth earth; but its two occupants sat silent and motionless, paralysed, as it were, by the icy breath of that chill March day. It was the first time they had been alone together since that hour by the forest lake. Dreary and melancholy as had been that autumn evening, with its falling leaves and surging mist-visions, some last lingering throbs of life had then quickened Nature"s pulse; but now even these were stilled. The silence of death lay on the broad fields, stretching away on all sides, so white and endless. Nothing but snow all around, far as the eye could reach! The distant horizon lay wrapped in fog, and the sky was heavy with dense snow-laden clouds which drifted slowly, lazily along--else all was numb and dead in these wintry desert solitudes.
The road now left the open lands and turned into the woods which it had hitherto skirted. Here in the sheltered forest path, the snow lay so thick that the horses could only advance at a foot-pace. The driver loosed the reins which up to this time he had held so tightly, and their giddy, rapid flight was changed into a gentle, gliding onward movement. The dark fir-trees on either side bowed under their load of snow. One of the low-hanging branches brushed against Waldemar"s head, and a perfect cloud of white flakes was showered down on him and his companion. She half-turned now for the first time and said, pointing to the trees--