A Noble Name Part 44

"And I?" cried Otto. "There seems to be no question of me here. Please do not forget that I am the elder brother, and that, if you do not marry, the inheritance of Donninghausen falls to me and to my heirs."

"I tell you all this simply because I do not forget," said Johann Leopold. "I detest family quarrels and lawsuits. I should not like to leave Donninghausen enc.u.mbered with any such, and therefore I propose a friendly settlement to you."

"Friendly?" Otto repeated, with bitterness. "True! A birthright for a mess of pottage!"

Johann Leopold raised his head, and his eyes flashed. "No; it is not that," he said. "Our grandfather would, without my interference, use every means to cut you off from the inheritance. Whether he would be justified in doing so you may settle for yourself. Moreover, I remain in possession during my life; and, in spite of my ill health, I may live to be an old man. I cannot, then, in all seriousness, regard either as unfriendly or uncousinly my offer to you of real advantages in exchange for your relinquishment of a more or less imaginary right. Think it over. Do not hurry yourself. The only thing requiring haste is your gambling debt. How much do you want?"

Otto named the sum. Without a word, Johann Leopold wrote a cheque for the amount and handed it to him. When Otto was about to utter some expression of grat.i.tude he checked him. "No need to thank me. I do it for the sake of the name we both bear." He did not wish that Otto should feel humiliated.

But he was humiliated. As the door closed behind him after a hasty 'good-night,' he struck his forehead with his clinched fist, and murmured, "To have to accept this from Johann Leopold! A bullet through my brains would be better!"

In this mood he returned to Tannhagen. The empty rooms looked more cheerless than ever,--he could not but be perpetually reminded of Johanna. Ever and anon he seemed to see against the dark background a pale face, the dark eyes dilated with horror,--the Medusa head which had appeared to Magelone and himself that morning in the forest. No, he could not go on living thus! And why should he, when the possibility of beginning a new existence was offered him? There was a high price to pay for it,--a birthright for a mess of pottage. But so much the better. It would be the ransom of his soul. How haughtily Johann Leopold had confronted him! with what maddening coldness he had rejected his thanks for the service he had rendered him! Johann Leopold the Just, to the prodigal of the family! But what if his coldness was the result of another cause? Did he know of Magelone's breach of faith? Was that why he would not marry? And--Otto laughed scornfully--was he exacting payment for his lost happiness, instead of making the guilty man a target for his pistol?

"I don't care. I will liberate myself!" Otto concluded his soliloquy.

And before he went to bed he wrote to Johann Leopold that he accepted his proposal, and was ready to agree to an immediate legal settlement of the affair.

In a few weeks everything was arranged. Johann Leopold had explained to the Freiherr that he was convinced of the incurability of his inherited malady, and the Freiherr acquiesced without a murmur in what was inevitable. He thought Magelone's reluctance to living for the present beneath the same roof with Johann Leopold very natural. It was more difficult, however, to induce him to agree to Otto's new plans. He declared indeed, with bitter decision, that Otto never should be intrusted with Donninghausen, but he could not comprehend the young man's voluntary relinquishment of his rights. It irritated him afresh against the grandson whom he had hardly yet received again into favour, and at last he agreed that it would be well for Otto to go away, adding that it had best be as soon as possible: all pains were thrown away upon him. So Magelone went to visit the Walburgs in Vienna, and Otto went to St. Petersburg. It was lonely at Donninghausen.

CHAPTER x.x.x.

AN OLD FRIEND ONCE MORE.

A year and a half had pa.s.sed since Johanna first went to live in 'Terrace-Cottage,' near the Kahlenberg Thor. It was the close of a gray December day; she could not see to write any longer. She rose from the table, and went to the window to read by the fading light, in a famous South German periodical brought her by Dr. Wolf, a favourable criticism of her book, which had recently appeared. As she read, she was both pleased and grieved. Where were all those in whose hearts her own joy might have found an echo?

But the next moment she raised her head, and brushed away her tears. Had she not reason to be glad and grateful? "Indeed I have," she said to herself. And as she gazed out in the twilight upon the gleaming expanse of snow, she reviewed in spirit all that life had brought her here.

First of all there was a long series of apparently monotonous, but in reality very beneficial, days of hard work, in which the joy and pain of her creative fancy had worn away her heart-ache, until there had come an hour which she never should forget.

It was in harvest; she was walking just after sunset beside a hedge-row.

White gossamers floated in the clear air; all around her there was absolute silence. Suddenly a joyous note rang out from far above her. It was a belated lark. She looked up, surprised, and in that very moment she had the sudden consciousness of relief and freedom which had so long been unknown to her. Since then she had been able to think of Otto, without bitterness, as of an entire stranger. She still had a sense of having lost something fair and sweet; but her inmost self was untouched, her true life undisturbed.

Thus restored to mental health, she had learned to rejoice in her new existence, in her work for its own sake, in her gradual improvement and success, and the result which she achieved. Many an acknowledgment, many a word of encouragement, many a kindly salutation, had reached her in her solitude, and had given her the a.s.surance that she had not written in vain.

And how her very heart and soul had been fed by Lisbeth's love, and the child's health and progress! When the terrible news had come from Brussels, the little one had cried bitterly for her dear pretty mamma, whom she should never see again. But childhood's tears are soon dried; Lisbeth soon smiled through hers. Her new home became her world, and every one in the house petted and loved the little orphan.

Johanna, however, was the dearest confidante of her childish heart, and an evening walk with her through the silent fields, the hour of quiet talk before she went to bed, the _tete-a-tete_ of the sisters at their early breakfast, were Lisbeth's cherished enjoyments.

Johanna's hope that the child would be left solely to her care had been fulfilled. Batti had written only once after his first outpouring of despair and grief. He had then sent trunks full of expensive dresses, etc., to be kept for Lisbeth; and since no word had come from him.

Johanna saw in the newspaper that he had pa.s.sed the winter in Paris instead of St. Petersburg, and that was all that she knew, and even more than she wished to know, concerning him. She did not conceal from herself for a moment the magnitude of the responsibility which thus devolved upon her; but she felt strong and capable. She wrote upon her blotting-book the homely old motto,--

"Do thou but begin the weaving, G.o.d the yarn will aye be giving."

Thus far it had been given to her, and she would always heed Goethe's admonition, "Go to work and help yourself for the present, and hope and trust in G.o.d for the future."

And yet, in spite of all that she possessed, and most frequently when she was vividly conscious of how much this was, she was tormented by a painful sense of deprivation. Her intercourse with the members of the household was most friendly. Dr. Wolf visited her frequently, was her faithful adviser, brought her books and periodicals, intellectual food of all kinds; but with increasing hunger she longed for Aunt Thekla's maternal care, the society of her grandfather, and Ludwig's faithful, honest affection.

She never allowed herself any indulgence in this species of home-sickness; and now, as always when it attacked her, she strove to distract her thoughts; she would call Lisbeth, who was playing with the 'little ones,' and she had just opened her own door to do so, when the landing-door was hastily flung wide.

Involuntarily she stood still. The dogs barked, the door-bell rang violently with the shock, and a man addressed a question to her from the gathering darkness. She did not understand it, but she knew the voice.

"Ludwig!" she almost screamed, and the next moment she was clasped in his arms.

And then came the 'little ones' with the dogs and a light, to see what was the matter. Their shouts brought the rest of the family. There were delight, surprise, tears, and laughter. Dear Dr. Werner was conducted to the drawing-room in triumph, and there he sat beneath the hanging-lamp, to be gazed at by all. How brown he had grown! and how much darker were his hair and beard! His eyes, on the contrary, looked lighter. Sanna asked if the Indian sun had not faded them a little.

How strange that he had been in India, and yet here he was in Hanover, sitting at their little round table just as he had sat there three years ago! Thus the 'little ones' chattered on, learning, in answer to their questions, that he had just come from London, and was going to spend his Christmas at Lindenbad, whilst the older sisters consulted as to what should be served for supper in honour of their guest, and regretted that this was their father's glee-club evening. The poor mother's thoughts were filled with her lost darling, and Lisbeth stood in the background, with her arm about Johanna's neck, eying with some suspicion this stranger who called her sister 'Johanna' and seemed so glad to see her.

She would have remained at her post when Frau Rupprecht called her children from the room to give the foster-brother and sister an opportunity for a quiet talk, but Jetta carried her off without more ado.

"At last!" cried Ludwig, holding out both hands to Johanna, and then words seemed to fail him for what he wanted to say.

After a pause, Johanna asked, "Did you come to see me or the Rupprechts?

I mean, did you know that I was here?"

"Yes, I have known it for a few days," he replied; and he added, with a gloomy air, and in his old harsh tone, "Bad enough it was to have to hear it from strangers. Why did you never write to me?"

"I could not!"

"You could not!" he repeated, and his lips quivered. Neither spoke. How they had longed for this meeting, and now----What still separated them?

Suddenly Ludwig laughed derisively: "A game of hide-and-seek. I sit, absorbed in my work in London, supposing you married, and asking no further questions, and Johann Leopold imagines I know everything from yourself. And did you never write to Lindenbad?"

She shook her head. "My correspondence with Mathilde had languished for a long time, and I do not like to complain," she said. He took her words as a hint, and said, evasively, "Let me tell you how I discovered you.

On a visit to a patient--I do not practise usually, but I could not refuse the urgent request of a few of my countrymen--I found her full of delight in a German book which she had just read. She showed me the t.i.tle-page. The odd motto reminded me of you: 'Do thou but begin the weaving, G.o.d the yarn will aye be giving.' Do you remember how we quarrelled over it once? As I was recollecting this, I turned over the leaves mechanically. I seemed to recognize your manner of speech, your way of looking at men and things. Yes, there was Lindenbad, and even the garden-gate from which we have so often watched the sunset with my blessed mother. I took the book home with me, and read it steadily until I had finished it--_I reading a woman's romance!_ And as I laid it aside I said to myself, 'Either she wrote it, or there exists somewhere her twin mind.' This was interesting psychologically. You can guess the rest. Day before yesterday I received an answer from your publisher. And now it is your turn to tell what you wish to. Only what you wish to," he added, with some bitterness. "I know that the old right is no longer mine, and I do not lay claim to it."

His last sentence hurt Johanna, and closed her heart and her lips. She gave him only the outlines of all that she had pa.s.sed through. Ludwig supposed that it pained her too much to dwell upon it. Thus they still played 'hide-and-seek' with each other, and when they were no longer alone, Johanna scarcely knew whether to rejoice in their meeting again.

The next morning Ludwig was to leave Hanover: he was expected in Lindenbad; but he came early to Terrace-Cottage, knocked at Johanna's door, and found her alone.

"Now it is your turn to give an account of yourself," said Johanna, after the first salutations. And he told her, in his old, familiar way, of his travels, his researches, his work and its results. More than all it seemed to delight him that he had lately been proffered a chair in a German university. Johanna asked if he should accept it.

"I do not know; it depends," he replied, with some hesitation. "But enough of myself. I think you are changed; it strikes me to-day, by daylight, for the first time. You are pale, you look weary. Have you been ill?"

She shook her head.

"Then you work too much, you take too little exercise." And, with a glance toward her writing-table, he added, "How did you happen upon authors.h.i.+p? I cannot understand it."

"Recollect how I always loved to 'make up' stories," Johanna replied.

"The love grew with my years. Thank G.o.d that it was so! My desire to go upon the stage was only a misconception of my task."

"Task?" he repeated. "You do not believe that anything, save the force of outward circ.u.mstances, drove you to write? Do not deceive yourself----"

"Most a.s.suredly I do believe it!" she interrupted him, and her eyes sparkled with pleasure. "The longing for some little corner of the earth in which I could plant my flowers was there long before necessity forced me to labour; and then, when the crash came both in my outward and my inner life, the talent which I possessed supplied the place of home and friends and love, or rather, let me say, restored them to me; for all of these that I had ever possessed came back to me in the creations of my imagination."

Ludwig sat with downcast eyes, silent, his forehead contracted in a frown.

"Do not look so stern!" Johanna said. "I am my father's daughter; and if I have inherited only an atom of his grand artistic gift, I must receive it as the one talent intrusted to me, and trade with it as did the servant who was faithful in a few things."