O Thou, My Austria! Part 37

"Suppose I guess?"

She shrugs her shoulders.

"To Wenkendorf," he whispers, advancing a step nearer her, as she makes no reply.

"What did he write to you?" Harry persists.

"That is no concern of yours."

"What if I guess that, too?"

"Then I hope you will keep your knowledge to yourself, and not mention your guess to any one," Zdena exclaims, eagerly.

"He proposed to you," Harry says, softly.

Zdena sighs impatiently.

"Well, yes!" she admits at last, turning to Harry a blus.h.i.+ng face as she goes on. "But I really could not help it. I did what I could to prevent it, but men are so conceited and headstrong. If one of them takes an idea into his head there is no disabusing him of it."

"Indeed! is that the way with all men?" Harry asks, ready to burst into a laugh.

"Yes, except when they have other and worse faults,--are suspicious and bad-tempered."

"But then these last repent so bitterly, and are so ashamed of themselves."

"Oh, as for that, he will be ashamed of himself too." Then, suddenly growing grave, she adds, "I should be very sorry to have----"

"To have any one hear of his disappointed hopes," Harry interposes, with a degree of malicious triumph in his tone. "Do not fear; we will keep his secret."

"Good-night!" She takes up her candlestick, which she had put down on the table beside which they are standing, and turns towards the winding staircase.

"Zdena!" Harry whispers, softly.

"What is it?"

"Nothing: only--is there really not a regret in your heart for the wealth you have rejected?"

She shakes her head slowly, as if reflecting. "No," she replies: "what good would it have done me? I could not have enjoyed it." Then she suddenly blushes crimson, and, turning away from him, goes to the staircase.

"Zdena!" he calls again; "Zdena!" But the white figure has vanished at the turn of the steps, and he is alone. For a while he stands gazing into the darkness that has swallowed her up. "G.o.d keep you!" he murmurs, tenderly, and finally betakes himself to his room, with no thought, however, of going to bed.

CHAPTER XXIV.

A SLEEPLESS NIGHT.

No, he could not sleep; he had something important to do. At last he must pluck up courage and establish his position. This wretched prevarication, this double dealing, could not go on any longer. It was ten times more disgraceful than the most brutal frankness. He seated himself at the very table where, scarcely more than a day before, he had listened to Lato's confessions, and began a rough sketch of his letter to Paula. But at the very first word he stopped. He was going to write, "Dear Paula," but that would never do. Could he address her thus familiarly when he wanted to sever all relations with her? Impossible!

"Honoured Baroness" he could not write, either; it sounded ridiculous, applied to a girl with whom he had sat for hours in the last fortnight.

He decided to begin, "Dear Baroness Paula." He dipped his pen in the ink, and wrote the words in a distinct hand: "Dear Baroness Paula, I cannot express to you the difficulty I find in telling you what must, however, be told. I had hoped until now that you would discover it yourself----"

Thus far he wrote hurriedly, and as if in scorn of mortal danger. He paused now, and read over the few words. His cheeks burned. No, he could not write that to a lady: as well might he strike her in the face. It was impossible. But what should he do? At last an idea occurred to him, how strange not to have thought of it before! He must appeal to her mother. It was as clear as daylight. He took a fresh sheet of paper, having torn the other up and tossed it under the table, then dipped his pen anew in the ink. But no; it would not do. Every hour that he had spent with Paula, every caress he had allowed her to bestow upon him, was brought up before him by his conscience, which did not spare him the smallest particular. Lato's words recurred to him: "You cannot disguise from yourself the fact that you--you and Paula--produce the impression of a devoted pair of lovers."

He set his teeth. He could not deny that his conduct had been shameful.

He could not sever his engagement to her without a lack of honour.

"Oh, good G.o.d! how had it ever come to pa.s.s?" What had induced him to ride over to Dobrotschau day after day? He had always been sure that an opportunity for an explanation would occur. When with Paula he had endured her advances in sullen submission, without facing the consequences; he had simply been annoyed; and now---- He shuddered.

Once more he took up the pen, but in vain; never before had he felt so utterly hopeless. Every limb ached as if laden with fetters. He tossed the pen aside: under the circ.u.mstances he could not write the letter; Paula herself must sever the tie, if it could be severed.

If it could be severed! What did that mean? He seemed to hear the words spoken aloud. Nonsense! If it could be severed! As if there were a doubt that it could be severed! But how? how?

His distress was terrible. He could see no way to extricate himself.

Paula must be compelled to release him of her own accord; but how was it to be done? He devised the wildest schemes. Could he be caught flirting with a gypsy girl? or could he feign to be deeply in debt? No, no more feigning; and, besides, what would it avail? She would forgive everything.

Suddenly Vips cried out in his sleep.

"Vips!" Harry called, to waken him, going to his brother's bedside.

The lad opened his eyes, heavy with sleep, and said, "I am so glad you waked me! I was having a horrible dream that you were being torn to pieces by a furious leopard."

"You foolish boy!"

"Oh, it was no joke, I can tell you!" Then, pulling his brother down to him, he went on, "Zdena took the revolver to you, I saw her through the keyhole; not one of the others would have raised a finger for you. No, there is no one in the world like our Zdena." Vips stroked his brother's blue sleeve with his long, slender hand. "Do you know," he whispered very softly, "I have no doubt that----"

Harry frowned, and Vips blushed, shut his eyes, and turned his face to the wall.

The first gleam of morning was breaking its way through the twilight; a rosy glow illumined the eastern horizon; the stream began to glimmer, and then shone like molten gold; long shadows detached themselves from the universal gray and stretched across the garden among the dewy flower-beds. The dew lay everywhere, glistening like silvery dust on the blades of gra.s.s, and dripping in the foliage of the old apricot-tree by the open window at which Harry stood gazing sadly out into the wondrous beauty of the world. The cool morning breeze fanned his check; the birds began to twitter.

The young fellow was conscious of the discomfort of a night spent without sleep; but far worse than that was the hopeless misery that weighed him down.

Hark! what was that? The sound of bells, the trot of horses on the quiet road. Harry leaned forward. Who was that?

Leaning back in an open barouche, a gray travelling-cap on his head, a handsome old man was driving along the road.

"Father!" exclaimed Harry.

The old gentleman saw him from the carriage and waved his hand gaily.

In a twinkling Harry was opening the house-door.

"I have surprised you, have I not?" Karl Leskjewitsch exclaimed, embracing his son. "But what's the matter with you? What ails you? I never saw you look so sallow,--you rogue!" And he shook his forefinger at the young fellow.

"Oh, nothing,--nothing, sir: we will talk of it by and by. Now come and take some rest."