The Breaking of the Storm Volume Ii Part 30

"That depends," said the cook. "Our poor young lady has not seen a soul to-day, and the poor thing must want to speak out. But it must be to a real friend."

"Of course," said August, b.u.t.toning his livery-coat, "one of the A 1's.

Herr von Schonau or----"

"Well, make haste and go upstairs."

"Ah! the Captain!" cried August, seeing Reinhold in the anteroom.

The Captain stood high in August's favour, and the Captain, who always looked so amiable, looked so grave to-day.

"The Captain, of course, knows all about it already," said August.

"For heaven's sake!" cried Reinhold, "what has happened? Is any one ill in the house?"

"Ill--yes," said August, "but only from fright. Fraulein Sidonie fainted immediately, and so of course we heard all about it. The Lieutenant is, of course, gone to the parade, and will not be back till evening, as he is on duty afterwards at the barracks; and I had to put all the General's orders on his uniform, and he went to his Excellency the Minister and the other Excellencies to say so-and-so; and our young lady is with Fraulein Sidonie; but she will certainly wish to see you, and if you will come in here and wait----"

August had ushered Reinhold, who, in his bewilderment, followed him mechanically, up the stairs, and opened the door of the drawing-room.

Reinhold remained alone for a few anxious moments. What could have occurred to have caused the family such a shock as he saw reflected even in the servant's face? And to-day, of all days! As if his heart were not heavy enough already!

A light step crossed the floor of the dining-room and over the carpet in the next room, and Elsa stepped in, holding out her hand to him.

"You have come to take leave. I know all from Fraulein--from Meta."

"I have come to take leave," answered Reinhold; "but before we speak of that, tell me, if you can, what misfortune has happened to you? It must be some misfortune."

He still held her hand in his, and gazed, himself pale from emotion and sympathy, into her pale lovely face, with the beloved brown eyes, which, formerly so bright and happy, now looked so anxious and sorrowful.

"My father would reproach me if he heard me call that a misfortune of which he affirms himself to be proud. And yet--who knows how it appears to him in his heart, or how he bears it in his heart, and how he will bear it?"

She suppressed her sorrowful emotion with a deep-drawn breath, and offering Reinhold a chair, and herself taking a place on the sofa, continued in a calm voice:

"My father has been pa.s.sed over in the promotion for which he stood next! You know what that means. He has just gone to offer his resignation in person to the Minister!"

"Good G.o.d!" said Reinhold, "an officer of his high character, of his vast services to the nation--is it possible!"

Elsa sat there, her fixed burning eyes looking down, a bitter smile trembling on her lips, while she slowly nodded her head once or twice.

Reinhold saw how forced was the self-command with which she had come to meet him, how deeply she felt the insult which had been offered to her father.

"And to think," he said in a low voice, "that I myself a.s.sisted to bring about this catastrophe. Your father has repeatedly impressed upon me what difficulties he had to struggle with, how precarious, how insecure his position was, and that a mere trifle might suffice to make it untenable----"

Elsa shook her head. "No, no!" she said, "it is not that. My father was determined to retire if ever this unhappy concession was carried through against his will. But that they should not even have waited, even given him time to carry out his resolution, that is what he resents, and what I fear will make his proud heart bleed."

The tears ran from her fixed eyes down her pale cheeks. Reinhold's heart was full to overflowing with love and sympathy. A voice within him cried out, "My poor, poor darling," but he dared not speak out yet.

Elsa had dried her tears with her handkerchief.

"You must not look so miserable," she said, trying to smile; "my father has done his duty, and you have done your duty. Is not the consciousness of this the best, the only consolation in such a case as this, which we must accept whether we will or no?"

"Certainly," said Reinhold; "and yet how sad it sounds from such lips."

"Because I am a girl," said Elsa. "I think it is just we girls who can do so little for ourselves, who are often so helpless in the face of circ.u.mstances, who are not early enough impressed with this idea. What would have become of me in these last few days if I had not done so. If I had not at least tried to do so, so far as lay in my power. And now to-day, when I have heard every thing from my father about Ottomar----"

Reinhold looked up startled.

Elsa's eyes had fallen, a burning colour had come into her cheeks; she went on slowly in a low voice, "I have learnt everything!"

"Could not that, at least, have been spared you?" said Reinhold after a silent pause.

"I think not," said Elsa, again looking up. "I think that my father followed a right impulse this morning when he told me everything, as to a friend (and, oh! how thankful I am to him for it, and proud!), told me of his position, of our position--confided to me even that. Oh! I cannot get rid of the thought that it would have been better, that it would have turned out better--for us all, if I had known it, if not from the beginning, at least after that terrible morning. Only a woman's hand could, had it still been possible, have smoothed out the entangled threads of all the faults and follies there and here. What would I not give for the minutes that have been irreparably lost. Ah! I know I should have found the words to touch Ottomar's and your cousin's hearts. Poor Ferdinanda! What must she have suffered? What must she suffer? And my poor Ottomar, too! He is really not so guilty as he perhaps appears to you. It is not your fault that you have not learnt to know him better, that the wish of my heart has not been fulfilled--that you might become true friends. We know now why he shunned you, as indeed he did even his best friends, Schonau and the others--even myself--all of us. And so he has strayed so far, so helplessly away in the loneliness of his heart. And yet I know him from earlier, better days, how tender, how loving and affectionate his heart was; how susceptible he was to all that was beautiful and good, even if he had not the strength to let it ripen in him, to live for that alone.

But it must be very difficult in the life that he leads, that he must lead, which I also have led in my way, and have enjoyed myself in it--all these prejudices of rank, these social fetters, which we no longer feel as such, because we have grown up amongst them and can never free ourselves without a hard struggle. And if he failed in this struggle, the strange circ.u.mstances of our family will certainly have contributed to it; and, lastly, the rebuff which he has experienced in the person of his father, whom, I know, in the bottom of his heart he deeply reverences. I will not defend him, when, pa.s.sionate and hot-headed as he is, he rushed out of the house--we none of us knew what he intended--and returned engaged to Carla; but he must not, he cannot be utterly condemned."

She gazed anxiously, with clasped hands, into Reinhold's face, a bitter feeling was stirring in him. If she spoke so eloquently of the singular position in which her brother was at the decisive moment, was not this position hers also? Would not she so speak at the last moment for herself? So decide for herself? or was it already on her account that she spoke? Had she so decided? Was he to read her decision between the lines?

"I always find it difficult," he said, "to condemn any one--in men's hearts there are so many depths, which no lead can reach--and I have not condemned your brother. On the contrary, I have for his sake and--I cannot deny it--for yours----"

His voice shook, but he collected himself by a strong effort and went on quietly, "Done every thing which a brother would at such a time do for a brother. I have even set my uncle's friends.h.i.+p and affection, which are very dear to me, at stake, and I fear, lost them. That it was all in vain, that I must let that be, which I foresaw would be to those most nearly concerned a deadly blow, which would more or less recoil upon us all without exception--I do not know whether I need tell you how hard this has been to me, how hard it is!"

"You do not need," said Elsa. "Take the thanks of the sister for the brother. You do not perhaps believe how grateful I am to you, and how your words have comforted me. Since this morning, through all the trouble which has come upon us, I have continually asked myself how you would be affected by it. I have longed to hear these words from you.

Now that I have heard them my heart feels lighter, and now, between us two at least, all will be again as it was."

"Do you believe that? do you really believe it?" asked Reinhold.

The smile died away upon her lips. She gently drew back the hand which she had given him, and which he firmly held; the blood flew again into her cheeks, which then became whiter than before.

"Have I been mistaken?" stammered Elsa.

"I do not think so," said Reinhold, "because, forgive me, I cannot think that at this moment you have been quite sincere. And--you have yourself said it--what brought ruin upon your brother, and upon my cousin, save that they were not open, neither to themselves, nor to each other, nor to their friends--that they never had the courage of their opinions--that they never had the true courage of their love?

Well! I, for my part, will not and dare not burden my soul with this reproach. I will keep my conscience free, however heavy my heart may remain. May I speak out what is in my heart? and will you answer me as your heart dictates?"

She sat there, pale and motionless, only the hand which she had given him, and which now lay in her lap, trembled.

"I will," she said, in a low voice.

"Well then," said Reinhold, "I came to take leave of your father, and before I took leave of him, to thank him from the bottom of my heart, for the kindness with which he had overwhelmed me, and for the confidence with which he honoured me. Perhaps, thought I, since I still remain in your neighbourhood, and my duties will also often bring me here, he would then have said that he hoped and wished to see me again.

And I must have replied, that as an honourable man I could only take advantage of this permission under one condition. And I should have said 'That condition, General, is impossible. I have had the fullest opportunities in this unfortunate business, and in the many confidential conversations with which you have honoured me, of entering into your thoughts and feelings; you have condescended even to initiate me into the circ.u.mstances of your family, and I am convinced that you will never of your own free will, grant me the hand of your daughter whom I love.'"

Elsa neither answered nor stirred, only her bosom rose and fell wildly.

"'Whom I have loved,'" continued Reinhold, in a voice trembling with emotion, "'I may say from the first moment that I saw her. Since then I have thought of her every hour of the day; and when I lie awake at night, her image stands out before my soul, clear, steadfast, immovable, like the north star; and I am as sure as that I am a living man, that this love can only end with my life.' That is what I should have said to your father."

"And then," said Elsa softly, "then should you have come to me?"

"Yes," said Reinhold, "then I should have come to you."

A lovely colour lay upon her cheeks; her eyes resting full and steadfastly upon him, gleamed through tears, whilst her voice seemed as if it would cry out for joy, and again trembled with emotion.

"I should have said to you, that I was unutterably happy in the knowledge that I was loved by you, and that I love you with my whole, whole heart, and will so love you for evermore."