Problematic Characters Part 59

Recent events, however, had seriously shaken his resolution. In the first place, he had thought of it while lying ill with fever in Hamburg, that he might die soon, and Helen would then stand quite alone, without his counsel, without his veto, which he was determined to interpose between her and her mother's plans if it should come to the worst. He had always loved his child, but now he almost wors.h.i.+pped her. She was so beautiful, so proud, and yet so kind and modest with him, that his heart was filled with anguish and sadness at the thought of leaving this world without having secured her fate. If Felix had been such a man as he desired for her, it would have been easier. But Felix was far from pleasing him. The old baron had been a soldier in his time, like Felix. He knew perfectly well to what temptations a rich young man of good family is exposed in the army; he had himself not always escaped from such temptations, and now, when his naturally serious mind had developed itself fully, he repented bitterly of the sins of his reckless youth. He had seen in his cousin Harald a fearful ill.u.s.tration of the terrible effects which unbridled pa.s.sions have even on a superior man, and his experience in these cases made him see at a glance that his nephew Felix had been a slave to similar pa.s.sions, and probably was so still. He had seen the young man a few years ago, when he first entered the army. Then he recollected him as a slender, well-built youth, with a fresh, handsome face, and bright, clear eyes; now he found nothing but a sad shadow of the pleasing form of those days. A ghastly leanness, deep furrows in the precociously old face, the large blue eyes looking gla.s.sy, or s.h.i.+ning in feverish glow, and always with that impertinent, fixed gaze which speaks more eloquently than a whole biography--his gestures sudden and short, evidently in order to hide the weariness within; loud and quick in speech, and judging all things with the same superficial arrogance--his whole being eaten up with a diseased vanity--this was what the concerned father saw in Felix, in spite of his good-natured efforts to cover up the worst parts of the picture.

He regretted now having promised his wife not to interfere with her in this matter. It seemed to him as if he had been too hasty, and at all events he did not think he was breaking his promise if he tried to sound Helen, how she felt herself on the subject. After they had been walking for some time in silence, he said, therefore, taking her arm in his:

"How is your health, my child?"

"Thank you, papa, pretty good; why?" replied Miss Helen, rather surprised at the question.

"I thought you looked a little pale."

"That is the unfavorable light here under the green trees," replied the young girl, merrily; "but I am really perfectly well."

"I was always afraid the sudden change of air, of diet, and even of friends, might injure you. You have been a long time away from home."

"That was not my fault, dear papa."

"I know--I know! Nor was it my fault; I always advocated your return from school, but----"

"Well, I am here now, and mean to make up for lost time. We will take a great many walks together; I will read to you all your favorite books, and we are going to have a quiet, happy life," and the young girl took her father's hand and carried it to her lips.

"You are a dear, sweet child," said the baron, and his voice trembled slightly; "G.o.d grant that I may long enjoy your presence here!"

"But, dear papa, don't give way to such melancholy thoughts! You are, G.o.d be thanked, quite as well and as hearty again as ever. Why should we not live a long time happily together?"

"But if you should leave us?"

"I am not going to die so soon, you may take that for granted," said Miss Helen, laughing.

"G.o.d forbid! But children part with their parents in other ways besides dying. When you marry we shall have to give you up once more, after having but just gotten you back."

"Why, papa, don't you speak as if I were to marry tomorrow morning! I have not even thought of it. Mamma, too, began to talk about that yesterday. I am afraid you want, both of you, to get rid of me again."

"Ah, indeed! Your mother has spoken to you about that, hm, hm?" said the baron, thinking of course that the baroness must have come out with her long-prepared project, and admiring the skill with which she had chosen the time, the day before Felix arrived; "ah, indeed? hm, hm!

Well, and how do you like your cousin?"

"Whom? Felix?" asked Helen, as yet not in the least suspecting the connection of this question with what had gone before.

"Yes."

"He looks to me like the champagne we drank at dinner. The first drops tasted very good; but when the gla.s.s had been standing a little while, I found the wine quite flat and tasteless.--But you do not really intend me for Cousin Felix?" asked Miss Helen, very eagerly, as the thought suddenly flashed through her mind.

"Oh, no, by no means--unless you choose; I mean--we shall never force your will in this respect," replied the old baron, rather confused, as he dared not tell the whole truth, and yet did not choose to state an untruth.

Helen made no reply; but the thought she had awakened was actively at work in her mind. She compared the conversation she had had the day before with her mother with her father's words just now.... It required much less ingenuity than she possessed to discern the connection between many casual remarks and the two interviews. Her proud heart rebelled at the thought that her fate had been decided and her hand disposed of without consulting her wishes, and asking her own opinion; that this Felix, against whom her chaste heart was instinctively rising in arms, might already look upon her as his own! These thoughts occupied her mind so fully that she could not fall in with the loud admiration of the company, as they stepped out of the forest upon the bluff near the sh.o.r.e.

And yet it was a sight well worthy of enthusiastic admiration. The sun had just sunk into the ocean, and seemed to draw down with it the clouds s.h.i.+ning brilliantly in a variety of gold and crimson hues. From the point where it had set bright streaks of light were shooting up in all directions, piercing the clouds, and losing themselves high up in the deep blue ether. The sea was like a ma.s.s of fire near the horizon, and golden sparks came dancing towards the sh.o.r.e on the crests of the waves. The chalk cliffs, with their colossal clefts, and the beech-trees crowning them, flamed up in the red evening light as in a blaze. All around was solemn stillness, broken only by the dash of the waves below upon the s.h.i.+ngle, and now and then the shrill cry of a gull fluttering restlessly over the waters.

The company stood about in groups, lost in admiration of the glorious sight, which changed every moment Oswald, tired of the continuous Ahs and Ohs, in which especially the baroness and Felix vied with each other, had gone aside from the others and seated himself upon the exposed root of an immense beech-tree.

"Have you room for me there?" asked Helen, coming up to him.

"I pray you will take my seat," said Oswald, starting up.

"Only for a moment; I do not know why, but the walk has tired me more than usually."

"Perhaps you stayed too long in the garden this morning?"

"No, but _a propos_. how does it happen that I have not seen you to-day--nor yesterday?"

"A mere accident."

"I am glad to hear that."

"Why?"

"To tell the truth, I was afraid I had driven you out of the garden; I thought this constant meeting with one and the same person would have become quite intolerable to you."

"You are too modest, I am sure."

"No, do not laugh at me; I really thought so--yes, and worse still; you have become very silent since day before yesterday, and, as I fancied, especially reserved towards me. Nor did you give me my lesson in literature yesterday, which I antic.i.p.ated with so much pleasure. Have I given you, unknowingly, cause to----"

"What can you mean?"

"Well, sometimes I say things that sound harsh or arrogant; at least I have been told so; but really I do not mean them----"

As Helen looked up at Oswald with her full, dark eyes, he stood before her utterly lost in admiration of her beauty, and in wonder at her sudden and inexplicable gentleness and sympathy.

"Why do you look at me so astonished?"

"Because I did not know so much kindness could be hid behind so much pride."

"Do you think the world deserves seeing our heart?"

"A strange question from the lips of so young a lady."

"To be sure, we are not expected to think. At best we are pretty dolls, to play with and to be given away to the first man who looks as if he would like to have us."

"Cousin!" called Felix, "we are going down to the beach; will you join us?"

"No," answered Helen, without looking round at the speaker.

"It is a charming walk," added Felix.

"May be," replied the young girl, curtly, without changing her position.

But Felix was not the man to be defeated so easily. He came up to the place where Oswald and Helen were sitting, and said:

"But, Helen, surely you will not refuse me the first request I ever made of you?"

"Why not?" replied the other, and her voice sounded peculiarly harsh and bitter. "I cannot bear begging and beggars, and you had better learn that at once."