Clear the Track! Part 30

Cecilia shuddered at these last words. She thought of Oscar's dark threat, when she refused to stay at Odensburg, and the image of her dead father loomed up before her.

"No farther, Herr Runeck," said she, forcibly recovering her self-control. "You are talking of my brother!

"Yes, of your brother," repeated he, with marked emphasis. "And you have nothing to say in refutation of my charge. You know then----"

"I know nothing, _will_ know nothing--Oh! my G.o.d, have pity on me!"

She clasped both hands before her face, and tottered, as though she would fall. The same instant Egbert was already at her side, supporting her; just as that time on the Whitestone, the beautiful, fair head, with closed eyes, lay upon his shoulder.

"Cecilia!"

It was only a single word, but it escaped Egbert's lips in the fervent tone of pa.s.sion, and at its sound, the large dark eyes opened and met his. For a second their looks mingled--rather an eternity. With loud, clear strokes, the clock told the midday hour. Egbert let his arm drop and drew himself up erect.

"Make Eric happy!" said he, with difficulty, in a hollow tone: "Farewell, Cecilia!"

In the next minute he had left the room, and Cecilia, pressing her hot brow against the cold marble of the mantel-piece, wept and wept, as though her heart would break.

CHAPTER XIV.

HOW AN OLD BACHELOR MAKES LOVE.

The dwellings of the numerous officials attached to Odensburg, formed quite a little town of themselves; there also was Dr. Hagenbach's house, a small villa, in the Swiss style. It had evidently been built for a larger family, but this elderly bachelor had not thought of marrying, and had been living alone here for years, with an old housekeeper, to whom was now added his nephew. As physician in chief of Odensburg, Hagenbach's professional services were constantly in requisition, but he also frequently had calls from abroad.

To-day, for instance, there sat in his office a patient from abroad, who, to be sure, did not look at all like a sick man. The man was about forty years old, and very rotund in person, his hands were folded over a very capacious paunch and his eyes almost disappeared behind full, puffy, red cheeks. Nevertheless he had a long tale of miseries to relate, counting up a whole list of ailments, until Hagenbach abruptly cut him short in the midst of it.

"Oh, I know all that you are telling me, by heart, Herr Willmann. I have already told you for the last time, that you take too good care of Number One. If you will not be moderate in eating and drinking, and take no exercise, the remedies that I have prescribed for you cannot take effect."

"Be moderate?" repeated Willmann in a soft, melancholy tone. "Dear me!

Doctor, I am moderation itself. But a hotel-keeper, alas! is in that particular a victim of his calling. I must occasionally sit with my guests, chatting and drinking--it brings business, you know, and----"

"You take upon yourself this martyrdom with wonderful self-denial. For all that I care--but then you have given up wanting any help from me, I perceive. I do not care at all to have outside practice; I have my hands full here at Odensburg. Why do you not consult my colleague, who has a great deal more time?"

"Because I have no faith in him," said Herr Willmann solemnly, without looking the least disconcerted by this harsh declaration. "There is something about you, Doctor, that inspires a body with confidence."

"Yes, thank G.o.d, I throw in the needful grains of rudeness," answered Hagenbach with composure of soul. "Then people always have confidence in you. You will take my prescriptions, then? Yes or no?"

"Dear me, I submit to you in every particular. If you knew what I have stood these last days--those terrible pains in the stomach----"

"For which those good meats and soups are to blame," interposed the doctor in cold blood.

"And that want of breath, that dizziness in my head----"

"Comes from the beer, to which you daily treat yourself, your own most regular customer. If you omit the beer, and limit your meals to what is absolutely necessary to sustain life--" then he began to count off a list of remedies that almost drove Herr Willmann wild.

"Why, Doctor, that is a veritable hunger-cure," lamented he. "It will put an end to me!"

"Would you rather fall a victim to your calling?" asked Hagenbach. "It is all right; but there, go off and leave me in peace!"

The patient sighed deeply and painfully. However, the doctor's faith-inspiring roughness must have won the victory over his love of good-living, for he folded his hands and looked up at the ceiling.

"If there's no help for it--in G.o.d's name!" said he unctuously.

The physician suddenly started, fastened a sharp glance upon him and then asked, wholly irrelevantly:

"Have you a brother, Herr Willmann?"

"No, I was the only child of my parents."

"Singular! I was struck with a likeness, that is to say, not exactly a likeness--on the contrary, you have not a feature like the person I am referring to."

Herr Willmann softly shook his head, in token that these dark words were unintelligible to him, while Hagenbach continued: "Can you tell me whether you have a relative who has been in Africa, in Egypt, in the Sahara or in some part of a desert in those parts?"

Herr Willmann's full cheeks lost something of their rosy tint, and he fumbled in an embarra.s.sed way with his gold watch-chain as he answered: "Yes--a cousin."

"Was he a missionary?"

"Yes, Doctor."

"And then he died of fever?"

"Yes, Doctor."

"Was his name Engelbert?"

"Yes----"

"And what is your own name, pray?"

"Pan--cra--tius," answered Willmann, drawling it out, while he still kept playing with his watch-chain.

"A fine name! Well then, Herr Pancratius Willmann, in three weeks come again, and meanwhile, if I should be pa.s.sing by the 'Golden Lamb' I'll give you a call to see how you are getting along. Adieu!"

Willmann took his leave with mild thanks for the advice wasted on him, and Hagenbach was left alone.

"The thing agrees," murmured he to himself. "He is a cousin, then, of that much lamented Engelbert, whose picture is draped in mourning. They both have that pious way of turning up their eyes; it seems to be a family-failing. Shall I tell her about it? I'll take good care not to!

She would send for the dear kinsman on the spot, and then there would be a repet.i.tion of that tale of woe, and a fresh eulogium of eternal constancy. As for the rest, I must give Dagobert the prescription I promised, to take with him, as he is about to set out for the Manor-house."

So saying he went across to his nephew's room, whom he was glad to find still in. The young man had already made his preparations for going out. His hat and gloves lay on the table beside a bulky blue note-book, but he himself stood before the looking-gla.s.s, carefully considering his own precious person. He tied his cravat straight, drew his fingers through his fair locks, and tried to give a bold air to his newly-budding mustache.

Finally Dagobert seemed content with the appearance of his outer man: he retired a few steps, laid his hand most touchingly upon his heart, sighed profoundly, and then began to say something in a whisper that could not be heard by the doctor, who gazed upon the scene from the threshold of the door, with increasing astonishment.

"Fellow, have you turned crazy?" asked he, in his gruff manner.

Dagobert started and turned crimson from embarra.s.sment.