Fickle Fortune

CHAPTER XIV

Twice the swallows had come and gone since the grave had closed on Edmund von Ettersberg. Now for the third time they arrived, bearing Spring upon their pinions; and as, after all the icy frost and snow of winter, the earth blossomed forth in newborn splendour, so the dark shadow of that grave, watered by many tears, was lightened, and from it there emerged a fair vision of human hope and happiness.

The death of young Count Ettersberg had caused the greatest consternation, and awakened general sympathy in the neighbourhood.

This universal mourning was due as much to Edmund's personal characteristics, which had endeared him to all, as to the frightful circumstances of his death. So young, so beautiful, rich and happy–his wedding-day so near! And for a mere mad frolic's sake, for a rash, senseless wager, to perish miserably, to be torn from his mother and his betrothed, without even seeing them or hearing their last farewell. It was a terrible fate!

How bright, how exuberantly gay the young Count had been the very morning on which the catastrophe befell! The darker, more secret sequence of events, none suspected. Edmund had gained his end. His mother remained spotless as before, and the rightful heir entered into possession of his own.

Many changes had been effected on the Ettersberg estates during the past two years. The present owner, Count Oswald, who on his cousin's death had succeeded to the title and the property took a serious view of the duties of his new position. Rarely indeed comes such a change in the life of a man as had come to him–a change so precipitate, so unexpected. Oswald, who had been bred in dependence and subordination, who, even when he shook off the fetters of that dependence, went forth to meet a life of care, of grave unflagging work, suddenly found himself transformed into the head of the house, the owner of wealthy family estates. His legal career was at an end before it had fairly begun. There was no failure of gratitude towards the friend in the great city who, in his need, had given him fatherly protection and assistance. Their relations continued excellent and affectionate as before; but, of course, a return to that sphere, to the life previously planned out for him, was not now to be thought of.

Other and greater tasks devolved upon Oswald, and he gave himself up to them with all the thoroughness and energy pertaining to his character. His strong hand grasped the helm in time to rescue the long-neglected estates from the ruin which seemed imminent. Gradually but surely he raised the value of the property until it reached its former zenith.

With but few exceptions, the reigning officials were superseded, and the system of administration underwent a complete change, while the large sums of money which in the old days had been called in to support the castle household on a lordly scale were now devoted to the restoration and improvement of the estates.

The new Master of Ettersberg led a solitary and retired life, and seemed at present in no way minded to select a companion or bring home a bride. This circumstance caused some wonderment in the neighbouring circles.

It was freely said that the Count, now in his nine-and-twentieth year, might think of marrying, ought to think of it, seeing that he was the last and only scion of the Ettersberg race. Plans were laid, and efforts were not spared to secure so brilliant a parti, but hitherto without avail.

Similar schemes and expectations were formed with regard to Brunneck. The hand of the young heiress was again disengaged, though at first a certain delicacy of feeling forbade would-be suitors to take advantage of the fact. Genuine and universal as had been the sympathy felt for Hedwig, it was considered inadmissible that this girl of eighteen should pass her life in sorrowing for the lover who had been taken from her; and many pretensions and desires, which that engagement had blighted, came to the front again.

They were, however, again doomed to disappointment, for Hedwig, by a decided step, withdrew herself from all possible overtures.

Before the period of mourning was over, she left Brunneck to accompany Edmund's mother on a visit to Italy. The Countess's health had quite given way beneath the shock of her son's death, and in spite of the most skilled advice, her malady made such serious progress that the doctors in consultation gave no hope save in a lengthened stay in the South.

It was thought an act of self-sacrifice on Fräulein Rüstow's part to leave her home, and even her father, that she might accompany the invalid–the good neighbours who thus judged being quite ignorant of the fact that Hedwig was longing to escape, to place the barrier of distance between herself and hopes which seemed to her an offence against the dead.

The two ladies had been absent almost a year and a half. In vain had the Councillor remonstrated and made impatient supplication for his daughter's return; his prayers found no favourable hearing. Hedwig had always given as a pretext the Countess's continued illness, declaring that she neither could nor would leave her in so piteous a condition. But now, at length, the travellers were at home once more. Rüstow, who had gone some stages on the road to meet them, brought his daughter straight back to Brunneck, whilst the Countess proceeded to Schönfeld, where, since Edmund's death, she had taken up her residence.

On the second day after the ladies' return, the Councillor was sitting as usual with his cousin in the veranda-parlour. He was full of delight at having his daughter with him again, and never weary of looking at her after their long separation. He declared that she had grown much more lovely, more sensible, more charming in every way, and the expression of his fatherly pride culminated in a solemn announcement that never again would he part with his darling as long as he lived.

For once his cousin actually agreed with him, admitting the improvement visible in Hedwig; but at these last words she shook her head and replied, with a certain meaning emphasis:

'You should not speak so decidedly, Erich. Who knows how long you will enjoy exclusive possession of Hedwig! That may be disputed you even here at Brunneck.'

'I shall not allow it,' interrupted Rüstow. 'I have no doubt that the Countess would like to have her over at Schönfeld for weeks at a stretch, but she will not have her way in this. I have been deprived of my child's society long enough, and mean to take a stand on my rights at last.'

'Count Ettersberg was at the station, I suppose, when you arrived with the travellers the day before yesterday?' said the lady.

'Certainly. It was very considerate, very proper of him to come himself to receive his aunt and take her over to Schönfeld. He was glad, too, to see Hedwig, and say a word of welcome to her on her return; but this, of course, was secondary.'

'Of course, quite secondary!' murmured Aunt Lina softly, but with an ironical twitch of the lips.

'The Count was not on particularly good terms with his aunt in the old days,' said Rüstow, turning to his cousin; 'but ever since her great misfortune he has shown her much kindness and attention. Indeed, I see a considerable alteration in that young man. He can even be pleasant and affable in his manners now, and as concerns his management of the Ettersberg property–'

'Yes, we are aware that he is an agricultural genius,' put in Aunt Lina. 'You discovered his talents in that line years ago, you know, when no one guessed that he was the future owner and Master of Ettersberg.'

'It would have been an unpardonable mistake if Fate had ordained that that man should be a lawyer,' said the Councillor solemnly. 'It always gratifies me when I remember what a clearance he made directly the reins fell into his hands, how quickly he put a stop to the old routine of reckless waste and mismanagement. He struck hard and struck home. In less than three months all the old worthless lumber had been thrown out. The parasites, which for years had clung to the good tree, sapping its strength, were destroyed. And how the man set to work when it came to ordering a new system! My spirit of enterprise is not small, but I believe I must yield the palm to him. I never should have imagined that in so short a time the estates could have been so raised in value. I ought to feel some annoyance, for hitherto Brunneck has passed for the model establishment of this part of the country, and now I suppose Ettersberg will be disputing its claim to the first rank.'

'And to a good many other things, I fancy. But you will take it all very patiently and quietly, Erich, for Count Oswald has always been a declared favourite of yours.'

'So he has, but I admit one great fault in him.

He will not marry. The whole neighbourhood is full of it. I shall take him to task seriously on the subject.'

'Do nothing of the sort,' said Aunt Lina. 'Interference is quite unnecessary, especially from you.'

Rüstow did not catch the hidden meaning of her words. He took them as expressing distrust in his skill and diplomacy, and was much offended in consequence.

'You think that where marriage is concerned, nobody but a woman has a right to speak. I will show you that I know what I am about. Count Oswald sets great store by my opinion.'

'I have not a doubt of it, on this subject more than on any other. I am convinced even that he will not marry without previously seeking your consent and approbation. You need not put yourself in a passion, Erich. I mean what I say–and there! why, there is the Count's carriage just turning into the courtyard. I knew very well he would be over here to-day.'

'How could you know that?' asked Rüstow, still angry at her supposed sarcasm. 'You have taken no interest whatever in my new steam-engine.'

'What steam-engine?'

'A new and most practical invention which I had down from town a little while ago. You were indifferent as usual. It failed to rouse your interest, but the Count, to whom I was explaining all the details when we met at the station the other day, is burning with desire to examine it.'

The old lady seemed to have her own ideas on the subject of this punctuality and burning zeal. She shrugged her shoulders significantly, as the Councillor hurried eagerly away to receive his visitor, in whose company he returned a few minutes later.

No striking change had taken place in Oswald's outward appearance, yet it produced an impression quite different from that of former days. With the pressure of untoward circumstances, with the fruitless, constant struggle against a galling chain, the bitterness of spirit had disappeared which once threatened to gain complete dominion over his proud and sensitive nature. Freedom and a new sense of personal importance had given him fuller development. The harsh expression had vanished from his features, the former coldness and abruptness from his speech and demeanour. He was not indeed possessed of that frank charm of manner with which Edmund had conquered all hearts, but his grave superior calm, his simple and yet imposing mien, showed that the present owner of Ettersberg was better fitted to rule and to command than his deceased cousin ever could have been. The Count, on this occasion, came of course solely and entirely to see the famous steam-engine, and to judge by a certain perturbed restlessness which he sought in vain to conceal, his interest in the useful invention must have been of an intense and all-absorbing character. Yet he listened with rather an absent air to the Councillor's florid description of his new treasure, and kept his eyes fixed on the door. He appeared to be momentarily expecting something, or some one; at length his patience gave way, and, turning to Aunt Lina, he observed in the most innocent and natural tone in the world:

'Fräulein Hedwig is out in the park, I suppose. I fancied I caught sight of her as I drove through.'

The old lady cast at him a glance which plainly said, 'If you had fancied that, you would not be herewith us now;' but aloud she replied, with an innocent simplicity equal to his own:

'I think you are mistaken. Count. My niece, I regret to say, has gone out to take a walk, probably to revisit some of the favourite old haunts which she has not yet seen since she came home.'

'Her favourite haunts!' The hint was sufficient for Count Oswald. He suddenly discovered that he had very little time at his disposal, and was bound to return to Ettersberg with all speed, but this availed him little. Rüstow took it as a fresh compliment to the steam-engine that, notwithstanding the urgent calls upon his time, his guest had come over to inspect and admire it. Inexorably he dragged him forth.

Oswald had to listen long to all the detailed explanations of this enthusiastic farmer, though in his impatience the ground on which he stood seemed to scorch his feet. At length he succeeded in getting free, and leaving the Councillor with a hurried good-bye, jumped into the carriage, which was waiting for him, and drove away.

Rüstow returned to the house a little put out at the unusual shortness and hasty nature of the visit vouchsafed him.

'There was nothing to be done with the Count to-day,' he said to his cousin. 'He seemed quite absent in his manner, and hardly looked at the engine, after all. Now he is rushing back to Ettersberg like the wind. It really was not worth while to come so far for such a flying visit.'

'It was too bad of you to torment him in that way,' remarked Aunt Lina, with sly malice. 'A full quarter of an hour you kept him standing there by your tiresome old steam-engine! He did not come to see that, bless you! and he is not driving back to Ettersberg now–not a bit of it, no more than I am!'

'Where in the world is he, then?' asked Rüstow, who was so overcome by these assertions that he overlooked the insulting word 'tiresome,' applied to his steam-engine.

'Very probably he is not driving at all. I dare say he has sent his carriage on into the village, and is taking a walk in the woods, or on the hills, or somewhere about. How can I tell in what direction Hedwig may be strolling?'

'Hedwig? What do you mean? You don't intend to say–'

'I intend to say that Hedwig is destined to become Countess Ettersberg, and that this time nothing can or will prevent it–depend upon it, I am right.'

'Lina, I really do believe you are going crazy,' exclaimed Rüstow. 'Why, they never could endure each other! They have been separated now for more than a year. In fact, since Edmund's death, they have only met about half a dozen times at the Countess's house at Schönfeld. It is impossible, absolutely impossible. This is just another of your foolish romantic notions.'

'Well, wait until they both come back,' said Aunt Lina emphatically. 'But in the meantime you may make up your mind to give the paternal benediction, for, rely upon it, it will be required of you. Count Oswald will hardly care to lose more time now, and certainly he has waited long enough. I think it was an overstrained feeling of delicacy on Hedwig's part which made her leave her home and father, just to prevent any earlier appeal from that quarter.'

'What? That is why she went to Italy with the Countess?' cried Rüstow, falling, as it were, from the clouds, 'You don't mean to pretend that this fancy existed during Edmund's lifetime?'

'This is no question of a mere fancy,' replied his cousin instructively; 'but of an ardent, unconquerable attachment which has, no doubt, cost them both much pain and many struggles. Hedwig, it is true, has never alluded to the subject by so much as a word. She has obstinately kept her confidence from me, but I could see how she was suffering, how hard it was to her to fulfil the promise which, without reflection, without full knowledge of her own heart, she had given to another. I do not doubt that she would have fulfilled it, but what the future consequences might have been both to herself and Oswald–that Heaven only knows!'

The Councillor folded his hands and gazed at his cousin with an expression of profound respect.

'And you found out all this by your own powers of observation? Lina, it strikes me that you are a wonderfully clever woman.'

'Ah, you have discovered that at length, have you?' asked the old lady, with gleeful satisfaction. 'It is rather late in the day for you to begin to recognise my talents.'

Rüstow made no reply, but his face literally beamed at the thought of having for a son-in-law his favourite, his genius–and in the joy of his heart he treated the speaker to a vigorous hug.

'I will admit them all, Lina. I will admit anything you like,' he cried. 'But this affair can hardly be settled so quickly as you say. How can the Count have gone after Hedwig? He does not know where she is, any more than we do.'

Aunt Lina escaped from his embrace, laughing.

'Ah, that is his business! We will rack our brains no further. Lovers have extraordinary luck in these matters. They are gifted with a species of second-sight which is very useful. I do not suppose that Count Oswald knows exactly the spot where Hedwig is, or he would hardly have come on to Brunneck first; but find her he will, you may be sure, be she hidden away in the thickest wood or perched on the top of the highest mountain. They will come back together, you may take my word for it, Erich.'

This prophecy, delivered with much deliberate confidence, was verified almost to the letter.

Oswald had, indeed, driven down to the village, but he had then sent on the carriage and had hurried towards the hills on foot. The faculty of 'second-sight' must have been well developed in him, for without a moment's vacillation, doubt or delay, he struck into a path which led direct to a certain wooded hill-side. His pace grew more eager, more rapid, as he neared his goal, and when at length he reached it, the object of his search was found. He had guessed that Hedwig's first ramble after her return home would take her to that spot.

Again the swallows came, in swift flight out of the far distance, back to their beloved woods, their old familiar haunts. With easy strokes they winged their way through the clear air, circling round tree and mountaintop, and then fluttering off in all directions to rejoice the whole countryside with their happy greetings, to be welcomed everywhere as the first messengers of spring.

But this time the earth was not wrapt in slumber or swathed in mist. It had long since wakened from its winter sleep. Through the sunlit forest might be seen the delicate green tracery of budding leaves. Verdure lay on field and meadow, peeping up, breaking through every clod, and over earth and sky streamed a sea of golden light. The breath, the pulse of spring was everywhere–on all sides jubilant voices sounded, hailing the new life.

So for the two human beings standing on that sunny height a true springtime had dawned. They had waited long for it, but now it had come to them in all its wealth and splendour. The words of love spoken here to-day must have been more ardent, more passionate, than those which three years before Hedwig had heard from other lips. Profoundly earnest they had certainly been. Oswald's face, as he bent over his betrothed, testified to this, as did the tears still glistening on Hedwig's lashes. Her dark-blue eyes had grown so deep in meaning, so full of soul and expression since they had learned to weep.

'I have had to wait so long,' said Oswald, and a slight accent of reproach mingled with the passionate tenderness of his tone. 'So long, so long! For more than a year you have held aloof from me, and I was not permitted even to write to you. Sometimes I thought I was altogether forgotten.'

Hedwig smiled, still through her tears.

'No, Oswald; you have not thought that. You knew surely and well that I suffered from the necessary silence and separation to the full as much as you–but I felt I owed that time of silence to Edmund's memory and to his mother's grief. You saw her when we arrived, and the sight will have explained to you why I could not have the courage to be happy while living at her side.'

'She is terribly changed, certainly. Her long sojourn in the South has brought about no real improvement, I fancy.'

'A postponement, at most. I fear she has returned hither only to die.'

'I knew that she would not survive the blow,' said Oswald. 'I feel so deeply what Edmund was to me, and how much more was he to his mother!'

Hedwig shook her head slightly.

'Sorrow one learns to bear, and it moderates with time, but the trouble that is gnawing at her heart has so sharp a tooth, it tortures and wastes her strength so constantly and cruelly, that I am sometimes tempted to think some other feeling must mingle with it–remorse, perhaps, or a sense of guilt!'

Oswald was silent, but the cloud which settled on his brow was answer enough.

'Before we started on our journey you made me promise that I would not distress the poor lady with questions,' the girl went on. 'I have kept my promise, and have never alluded to the doubts or the painful uncertainty which weigh on my mind. There is so much that is dark and enigmatic to me in all the circumstances connected with that terrible event. One thing only I divine, namely, that Edmund voluntarily sought his death. Why? To this hour the question has been left unanswered. It remains to me a mystery. There should be no secrets between us, Oswald. You must answer me now when I pray and entreat you to tell me the truth. I cannot, will not see that dark cloud upon your brow.'

She could use the language of entreaty now, could beseech with all the intensity and power of love; and here she was sure of victory. Oswald clasped her more tightly in his arms.

'No, my Hedwig, there must be nothing secret between us. All must be clear and open as day. But not now, and not here, can I disclose to you that sad story of guilt with all its fatal consequences. I cannot tell that story to my betrothed. When you are my wife, you shall hear what drove Edmund to his death, what is gradually, irresistibly drawing his mother after him to the grave. That dark shadow must not intervene to mar the brightness of this hour. So often have I dreamed of it, aye, dreamed from the moment your sweet face first dawned on me in the midst of that fierce snowstorm. You came to me, a spring-day personified, with all its promises of hope and happiness–though then, indeed, I could not, dare not hope those promises would ever be fulfilled.'

Hedwig looked up at him. She had not quite forgotten her old arch, sunny smile. It played about her lips with all its own bewitching charm as she replied:

'Why not? We met for the first time in a March storm, and here, on this very spot, when you were speaking so gloomily of life in general and of your own sad past, I proclaimed to you that Spring, bright happy Spring, would come at last.'

As an echo to her words sounded the low murmured greeting of the swallows fluttering overhead, as they had fluttered on that former day in the thick drizzling mist. But now they winged their airy flight in full sunshine. Higher and higher they soared, until they disappeared in the illimitable azure of the sky. These small feathered messengers, which bring to the earth after its long winter sleep a promise of new light and life, came this time charged with a still fairer mission. They brought ease to longing hearts, rest after a cruel fight, a whole springtime of peace and happiness to two loving human beings.