The Alpine Fay

CHAPTER XX.

BLASTS AND COUNTERBLASTS

The construction of the railway was pushed forward with feverish haste. In fact, it was no easy task to have the work completed at the promised time; but Nordheim was right in declaring that the engineer-in-chief would spare neither himself nor his subordinates. Elmhorst spurred on his workmen to incredible exertions; he was present everywhere, superintending and directing, giving to his staff of engineers an example of unwearied devotion to duty that inspired their emulation. Under his leadership their capacity for work seemed doubled, and he actually attained his end. The numerous structures on the line of mountain-railway were now all but finished, and the last touches were being put to the Wolkenstein bridge.

Wolfgang had just returned from his day's expedition. He had dismissed his vehicle in Oberstein, that he might pursue the rest of his way on foot, and now he was standing upon a cliff above the Wolkenstein abyss, watching the workmen, swarming like busy ants upon the trestles and framework of the bridge. A few days more would witness the completion of the work, which already excited universal admiration, and which in the course of a year or two would arouse the wonder of thousands; but he who had created it stood gazing at it as gloomily as if all pleasure in his creation had departed.

He had evaded for to-day an interview with the president, testifying by his absence to his adhesion to his refusal; but some explanation was unavoidable. That the breach between them was final both knew; Nordheim was scarcely the man to accept for his son-in-law one who had so frankly and contemptuously defied him, and from whom he could expect in future no support in his schemes. The question was now how the separation was to be made, since the interests of each required that it should take place as quietly as possible. This was all that was to be arranged, and this was to be settled on the morrow.

The sound of a horse's hoofs close at hand roused Elmhorst from his reflections, and turning he perceived Erna von Thurgau upon one of the rough ponies purchased for use among the mountains. She drew rein, evidently surprised, as she recognized the engineer-in-chief.

"Back already, Herr Elmhorst? We thought your expedition would take up an entire day."

"I finished my inspection sooner than I anticipated. But you cannot ride on for a few moments, Fräulein von Thurgau: they are blasting just below there; it will be all over, however, in ten minutes."

The young lady had already perceived the obstacle; the road leading down the descent and past the bridge was temporarily barricaded, while beyond a number of workmen were busied in blasting a large fragment of rock.

"I am in no hurry," she said, indifferently, "and, besides, I must wait for Herr Waltenberg, who begged me to ride on while he spoke with Herr Gronau, whom he met just now quite unexpectedly. I do not wish to be too far in advance of him."

She let her bridle hang loose, and seemed to bestow all her attention upon the workmen. The previous night had brought an entire change in the weather,–a cold rain had obscured all the sunny, fragrant beauty of the landscape. The skies hung dark and gray above the earth, the mountains were veiled in mist, and the wind whistled in the forests,–autumn had come in a single night.

"We shall see you this evening, Herr Elmhorst?" Erna asked, after a silence of several minutes.

"I regret extremely that I cannot possibly come. I shall be very much occupied this evening."

It was the old pretext to which he had so often had recourse; but it no longer found credence. Erna said, with evident significance, "You are probably not aware that my uncle arrived this forenoon?"

"Oh, yes, I know it, and have excused my absence to him; I shall see him to-morrow."

"But Alice does not seem well. She will not, it is true, admit any indisposition, nor will she allow Dr. Reinsfeld to be summoned, but she looked so pale and ill awhile ago when she came out of her father's room, that I was quite alarmed."

She seemed to expect an answer, but Elmhorst continued to gaze towards the bridge in silence.

"Surely you ought to forsake your work for to-day and see after your betrothed."

"I have no longer the right to call Fräulein Nordheim my betrothed," Wolfgang said, coldly.

"Herr Elmhorst!"

"Yes, Fräulein von Thurgau. Differences of opinion have arisen between the president and myself of so decided a character that any adjustment is impossible. We have both withdrawn from the intended connection."

"And Alice?"

"She knows nothing of it as yet, at least through me. Possibly her father may have acquainted her with the matter; in any case, she will submit to his decision."

The words testified clearly to the nature of the strange alliance, which had in fact existed only between Nordheim and his intended son-in-law. Alice had been betrothed since the interests of both men required that so it should be, and now when these interests no longer existed the betrothal was dissolved without even referring the matter to her; it was taken for granted that she would submit. Erna too seemed to have no doubt upon the subject, but she changed colour at the unexpected intelligence. "It has come, then, to this," she said, softly.

"Yes, it has come to this. I was asked to pay a price far too high for me or–, and I made my choice."

"I knew how you would choose!" the girl exclaimed, eagerly. "I never doubted it!"

"Ah, you did me that justice, then!" Wolfgang said, with undisguised bitterness. "I hardly expected it of you."

She made no reply, but there was reproach in her eyes; at last she said, with hesitation, "And–what now?"

"Now I stand just where I did a year ago. The path which you once pointed out to me with such enthusiasm lies open before me, and I shall pursue it, but alone,–entirely alone."

Erna shivered slightly at his last words, but apparently she did not choose to understand them; she interposed, hastily, "A man like yourself is not alone. He has his talents and his future, and the future before you is so grand and–"

"And as dreary and sunless as that mountain-world," he completed her sentence, pointing to the autumnal, cloudy landscape. "But I have no right to complain. It came to meet me once, happiness, brilliant and sunlit, and I turned my back upon it to attain another goal. Then it spread its wings and departed, soaring to unattainable heights; and although I would give my very life for it, it never will come back to me. Those who trifle with it lose it forever."

There was dull, aching misery in his voice as he made this confession, but Erna had no word of reply for him, and no glance for the eyes seeking her own. Pale and rigid, she gazed abroad into the misty distance. Yes, he knew now where for him lay rest and happiness,–now, when it was too late!

Wolfgang laid his hand upon the horse's mane: "Erna, one question before we part. After my final interview with your uncle to-morrow I shall, of course, not enter his house again, and you are going far away with your husband. Do you look for happiness at his side?"

"At least I hope to confer happiness."

"And you?"

"Herr Elmhorst–"

"Ah, you need not repulse me so sternly! No self-interest lurks behind my question. My sentence I listened to from your lips on that moonlit night upon the Wolkenstein. Even were you free I should be hopeless, for you never could forgive my wooing of another."

"No,–never!" The words were harsh in their decision.

"I know it, and hence these last words of warning. Ernst Waltenberg is not the man to make such a woman as yourself happy. His love is rooted in the egotism that is the basis of his entire nature. He never will ask himself whether he may not be torturing by his jealous passion the woman whom he loves, and how will you endure constant companionship with a man to whom all the lofty ideals which are to you inspiration are but dead ideas? At last I have learned to know–dearly as the knowledge has been purchased–that there is something loftier and better than the self which once bounded my horizon. He never will learn this!"

Erna's lips quivered; she had long known it far better than any one could tell her. But what availed such knowledge? For her also it was too late.

"You are speaking of my betrothed, Herr Elmhorst," she said, in a tone of reproof,–"and to me. Not another word of the kind, I entreat!"

Wolfgang bowed and retired: "You are right, Fräulein von Thurgau; but they were farewell words, and as such may be forgiven."

She inclined her head in assent, and was about to turn away, when Waltenberg appeared on the edge of the forest, urging his horse towards the pair. He and the engineer-in-chief exchanged the coldly courteous greetings habitual to them in what had become their almost daily intercourse. They spoke of the weather, and of the president's arrival,–Ernst being now first aware of the barricade in the road.

"The men are unconscionably dilatory about their blasting," said Wolfgang, glad to find an opportunity to cut short the interview. "I will go and hasten them; you shall not have to wait long."

He hurried down the slope, but something seemed to be amiss with the blasting, and the engineer who was directing the proceedings came forward to explain matters to his chief. Wolfgang shrugged his shoulders impatiently and passed on into the midst of the workmen, apparently to examine the work himself.

Meanwhile, Waltenberg stayed with his betrothed, who asked him, "You spoke with Gronau, then?"

"Yes, and I took no pains to conceal my surprise at finding him here, since he had not been to see me in Heilborn, or informed me of his return. In reply he begged me to see him this evening: he has something to tell me, which he says concerns me in a certain sense. I am really curious to know what it is. He is not wont to be oracularly mysterious. Look, Erna, how dark and threatening the sky is above the Wolkenstein. Will that storm not overtake us?"

"Hardly to-day," said Erna, with a glance towards the veiled mountain-top. "To-morrow perhaps, or the day after. In spite of our fine autumn, the tempests which our poor mountaineers so dread seem to be setting in earlier than usual. We had a forerunner of them last night."

"There must be something more than fable in the magic power of your Alpine Fay," Ernst said, half in jest. "That cloudy peak, which is well named, for it scarcely ever unveils, has actually cast a spell around me. It allures and attracts me with a mysterious, wellnigh irresistible charm, tempting me to lift the veil of the haughty Ice-Queen, and to snatch from her the kiss hitherto denied to mortals. If one should try that precipice on this side–"

"Ernst, you promised me to give up all such ideas forever," Erna interposed.

"And I will keep my word. I promised you on St. John's eve."

"On St. John's eve," the girl repeated, softly, dreamily.

"Do you remember that evening when I yielded to your request? I had resolved firmly upon an ascent of the Wolkenstein, but my resolution vanished before the entreaty in your eyes,–your words. Would you really have been distressed had I then disobeyed you?"

"But, Ernst, what a question!"

"It would not have been incumbent upon you then to be so; I was not then your declared lover." There was again the old tormenting jealousy in his voice. "You would probably have been distressed about Sepp or Gronau if either of them had undertaken the ascent. I mean that trembling anxiety which only assails one where one dearly loved is concerned,–a dread before which all else pales and vanishes,–the distress which would drive me blindly to encounter any danger if I knew you exposed to it. I suppose you know nothing of that?"

"Why conjure up such fancies?" Erna said, half impatiently. "I have your promise, and therefore no ground for distress. Why dwell upon an 'if'–?"

A crash as of thunder interrupted her. Below them earth and stones were hurled into the air, and the huge mass of rock, split into three fragments, fell apart with a dull thud, while on the instant a terrific commotion arose. The assembled labourers rushed away from the bridge towards the spot where the engineer-in-chief with his subordinate officer had been standing an instant before. It was impossible to see what had occurred; all that was to be perceived was a close group of men, whence cries of alarm and dismay were heard.

But above them all there rang out such a shriek as is the utterance of an agony of despair, and Ernst, turning, saw his betrothed, erect in her saddle, every vestige of colour fled from her face, gazing towards the spot where the catastrophe had occurred.

"Erna!" he exclaimed. She did not hear him, but gave her horse the rein. The brute, terrified by the noise, shied and would not go forward. A merciless cut with the whip forced it to obey, and the next instant horse and rider were speeding down the slope towards the group of men.

It parted at Erna's stormy approach; some of the labourers, who thought the horse had become unmanageable from fright, seized it by the bridle and stopped it. Erna seemed hardly aware of it; in mortal terror her eyes sought only–Wolfgang! and on the instant she perceived him standing quite unhurt in the midst of the throng.

He too had seen her as she broke through the crowd; he had recognized the look that sought him out,–had heard the deep-drawn sigh of relief when she found him uninjured,–and from his eyes there shot a ray of passionate ecstasy. His mortal peril had revealed her secret,–she did love him, then!

"Your fear was unfounded; the engineer-in-chief is unharmed," said Ernst Waltenberg, who had followed his betrothed and had paused just outside the throng. His voice sounded unnatural, his face was strangely pale, and in the dark eyes now riveted upon Erna and Wolfgang there gleamed an evil fire. Erna shivered, and Wolfgang turned hastily. It needed but a glance to tell him that he was confronting a deadly foe; yet appearances must be preserved in view of all these stranger eyes.

"The affair might have turned out badly," he said, with forced composure. "The blast was tardy at first, and then took place before we could get well away from it. Two of the men are wounded; I am glad to know, only slightly. The rest of us escaped almost by a miracle."

"But you are bleeding, Herr Elmhorst," said one of the engineers, pointing to Wolfgang's forehead, where two or three trickling drops of blood were visible. The young man pressed his pocket-handkerchief upon the wound, of which he had not before been aware.

"It is not worth mentioning; one of the stones must have grazed my forehead. Have the wounds of those men bandaged immediately. Fräulein von Thurgau, I regret that the accident should have frightened you–"

"It frightened my horse, at least," Erna interposed, with ready presence of mind. "It shied and ran; I could not control it."

The fiction was a plausible one and gained instant credence from the bystanders, explaining as it did the sudden appearance of the young lady and her evident terror and emotion. It was fortunate that the frightened animal had been brought under control in time.

There were two men, however, who were not thus deceived,–Wolfgang, to whom those few instants of alarm had revealed a certainty which came, indeed, too late, but which he would not for worlds have relinquished, and Ernst, who still maintained his place, closely observing the pair. There was a contemptuous emphasis in his voice as he remarked,–

"We have been fortunately spared another catastrophe. Have you recovered from your alarm, Erna?"

"Yes."

"Then we will continue our ride. Au revoir, Herr Elmhorst."

Wolfgang bowed formally, perfectly comprehending the significance of that 'Au revoir;' then he turned to see after the wounds of the two men, which were in fact very slight, as was his own. A fragment of stone had, as he said, merely grazed his forehead. The entire occurrence seemed to have ended very fortunately.

But this was only seeming, as might have been clearly seen in Waltenberg's countenance. He rode beside his betrothed in silence, without even turning towards her; this went on for a quarter of an hour, until Erna could bear it no longer.

"Ernst," she said, softly.

"Beg pardon?"

"Let us turn back. The skies are more threatening, and we can take the mountain-road home."

"As you please."

They turned their horses into another road, and again complete silence ensued. Erna was only too conscious that she had betrayed herself, but she could have borne the wildest outburst of jealousy from her betrothed rather than this gloomy silence, which was terrible. She did not indeed fear for herself, but she saw that an explanation was inevitable so soon as they should reach the house.

Her expectations were, however, disappointed, for at the door of the villa, after Ernst had helped her to dismount, he got on his horse again.

"You are going?" she asked, surprised.

"Yes. I need the open air this afternoon."

"Do not go, Ernst. I wanted to ask you–"

"Good-bye!" he interrupted her, curtly; and before she could make any further attempt to detain him he was gone, leaving her a prey to a vague anxiety in her ignorance of his intentions.

When Waltenberg reached the forest he checked his horse's speed and rode on slowly beneath the dark pines, through the tops of which the wind was whistling. He needed no further explanation; he knew everything now,–everything! But in the midst of the tempest raging within him he was aware of a savage satisfaction: the phantom which had tortured him for so long had finally taken on flesh and blood. Now he could assail and destroy it!

CHAPTER XXI.

A CHALLENGE

It was evening; Elmhorst was in his office with Dr. Reinsfeld, who had arrived half an hour previously, and from the air of both men it was evident that the subject of their conversation was a grave one. Benno seemed especially agitated.

"So matters stand at present," he concluded, after a long explanation. "Gronau came directly to me after his interview with the president, and all my efforts to deter him from his purpose are vain. I begged him to remember that it would cost him his position with Waltenberg, who never could tolerate such an assault upon the fair fame of the uncle and guardian of his betrothed, and that he had no positive proof; that Nordheim would do all that lay in his power to brand him as a liar and slanderer. It was of no use. He reproached me bitterly with cowardice,–with indifference to my father's memory. God knows, he was wrong there; but–I cannot bring forward the accusation!"

"Wolfgang had listened in silence, a contemptuous smile hovering about his lips. It was high time indeed to break off all association with that man; never for an instant did he doubt the truth of Gronau's suspicions.

"I thank you for your frankness, Benno," he said. "It would have been perfectly excusable if you had never taken me into consideration, but had acted only as your father's son. I know how great is the regard you thus show me."

Benno cast down his eyes; he was conscious that these thanks were undeserved. It was not to spare his friend that he would have buried that discovery in oblivion.

"You understand that I cannot possibly move in the affair," he rejoined. "I must leave it to you to speak with your future father-in-law–"

"No," Wolfgang coldly interrupted him.

Reinsfeld gazed at him in surprise. "You will not?

"No, Benno; Grouau has openly declared war to him, as you tell me, therefore he is fully prepared; and, moreover, my relations with him are no longer what they were. We are parted once for all."

The doctor's amazement was inexpressible: "Parted? And your betrothal with Fräulein Alice–"

"Is at an end. I cannot give you a detailed explanation of the matter. Nordheim has shown himself to me also,–as what you now know him to be. He endeavoured to impose upon me conditions entirely inconsistent, in my opinion, with my honour; therefore I was obliged to retire."

Reinsfeld still stared at him, bewildered; he could not understand how the man who had once staked everything upon this connection could speak thus composedly of his shattered hopes.

"And Alice is free?" he managed to ask at last.

"Yes. But what is the matter with you? What is it?"

Benno had started up in extreme agitation: "Wolf, you never loved your betrothed. I am sure of it, or you could not speak so coldly and calmly of losing her. You do not even know what you are losing, for you never appreciated what you possessed."

There was so passionate a reproach in his words that they betrayed everything. Elmhorst was startled, and gazed at the doctor half incredulously: "What does this mean? Benno, can it be–what? do you love Alice?"

The young physician's honest blue eyes sparkled as he looked into those of his friend: "No need to reproach me with it, Wolf. I have never spoken a word to your betrothed that you might not have heard, and when I saw how impossible it was to struggle against my love, I made up my mind to depart. Do you suppose I would ever have accepted the position in Neuenfeld, which I more than suspected was the result of the president's influence, if any other way out of the difficulty had been possible? There was nothing else to do if I wished to leave Oberstein."

The most conflicting sensations were pictured on Wolfgang's features as he listened. True, he had never loved his betrothed, but Benno's confession touched him very strangely, and there was something akin to bitterness in his voice as he said, "Well, I am no longer an obstacle in your way, and if you have any hope that your love is returned–"

"It would be vain!" Reinsfeld interposed. "You know now what happened between our fathers, enough to separate me from Alice forever."