The Alpine Fay
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For the moment it was, however, all thrown into the background in view of a threatened loss which dwarfed all other anxiety in the president's mind. The mountain-railway, which should have been completed in a few days, was in great peril from the freshets. From all quarters came terrifying reports,–one piece of bad news followed another. The injury done was already serious; if the storm should continue and the water mount higher it might be incalculable, and Nordheim was implicated pecuniarily to an extent which could not but be very grave even to a man of his vast wealth.
Erna and Molly, whose departure had been perforce postponed, were in the drawing-room. The lawsuit which had brought Gersdorf to Heilborn had been decided by a compromise, the arrangement of which detained the lawyer a few days longer. His wife was at first delighted, for in her capacity of guardian angel she considered her presence in the Nordheim household as absolutely necessary, although, to her great disappointment, she was obliged to admit that she had nothing here to protect.
The engineer-in-chief had retired; his betrothal with Alice was dissolved, as all the family now knew, and Alice obstinately refused to open her heart to her friend. Benno was just as impracticable, seeming to persist in his idea of a separation, and, worse than all, no human being required any advice or counsel from Frau Doctor Gersdorf, who was naturally indignant at such base insensibility.
"That is my reward for my philanthropy," she said, very much out of humour. "Here I sit, as upon a desert island in the midst of the ocean, cut off from all the world, separated from my husband, in danger of being swept away at any moment by a deluge. Albert may be obliged to rescue my corpse from the raging element and return to town an inconsolable widower. I wonder if he will marry again? It would be horrible. I should turn in my grave. But then men are capable of anything."
Erna, standing at the window looking out at the storm and rain, hardly heard this chatter; her thoughts were elsewhere.
"We are not in any peril here, Molly," she said at last. "The house is perfectly safe, standing as high as it does, but I am afraid matters look serious in Oberstein and on the railway."
"Oh, the engineer-in-chief will take care of that," Molly declared, confidently. "We hear from all sides of his heroic conduct, how he accomplishes the impossible. We never did this Elmhorst justice. He released Alice although he resigned millions by so doing, and now he is exerting himself to the utmost to preserve the railway for your uncle, although they separated in anger. Confess, Erna, that you were prejudiced against him."
"Yes–I was," Erna replied, softly.
"There comes your betrothed!" exclaimed Molly, joining Erna at the window. "How odd he looks! The water is actually pouring from his waterproof; he has ridden over from Oberstein in this storm. I think he would really go through fire and water for one hour with you. But marriage puts an end to all that, my child; trust the experience of a wife of four months. My lord and master sits calmly with his manuscript in Heilborn and waits until the weather is clear enough to come to me. Your romantic Ernst appears, indeed, to be made of different stuff. But what is the matter with him? For three days he has been glooming about like a thunder-cloud, never taking his eyes off you when you are in the room. It is positively terrible to see you together. Nothing will persuade me that there has not something occurred between you. Do be frank with me, Erna; open your heart to me. I am as silent as the grave."
She clasped her hands upon her breast in asseveration of her trustworthiness, but Erna, instead of throwing herself into her arms and confessing, returned the greeting of her betrothed as he alighted from his horse, and then said, evasively, "You are quite mistaken, Molly; nothing has happened,–nothing at all."
Frau Gersdorf turned away provoked: no one seemed in the least need of a guardian angel; these people had a very stupid way of managing their affairs themselves. The little lady could not understand it, and she rustled out of the room decidedly out of humour.
Scarcely was she gone when Waltenberg entered. He had laid aside his hat and cloak, but nevertheless his dress showed traces of the storm, against which no cloak was a protection. He greeted his betrothed with his usual chivalric courtesy, but there was something chilling in his air which was strangely contradicted by the glow in his dark eyes. Molly was right: he was indeed like some thunder-cloud, whose depths threaten ominously.
Erna went to meet him in evident embarrassment; she had learned to dread this icy calm.
"Well, how is all going on outside?" she said. "You come directly from Oberstein?"
"Yes, but I had to take a roundabout way, for the mountain-road is under water. Oberstein itself looks tolerably secure, but the villagers have entirely lost their heads, and are running about bewailing themselves incessantly. Dr. Reinsfeld is doing all that he can to bring them to reason, and Gronau is giving him all possible support, but the people are behaving like lunatics because they think their paltry belongings are in peril.
"Those paltry belongings, however, are all that they have in the world," the girl interposed. "Their own lives and those of their families depend upon them."
Ernst shrugged his shoulders indifferently: "I suppose so; but what is that in comparison with the tremendous loss sustained by the railway? As I entered the house just now tidings of fresh disasters were brought to the president. Nothing but ill news from all quarters. Everything seems to be imperilled."
"But they are working away desperately; can it be entirely in vain?"
"Yes, the engineer-in-chief is waging desperate warfare against the elements," Ernst said, with a kind of savage satisfaction. "He is defending his beloved creation to the death, but against such catastrophes no mortal power avails. The water is steadily rising, the dikes are giving way, and the bridges on the lower portion of the road are already carried off. All nature seems in revolt."
Erna was silent. She went again to the window, and looked out into the mist, which made any distant view impossible. Even the stretch of railway in the vicinity of the villa was invisible, while the roaring of the waters was distinctly audible. Below there Wolfgang was doing battle at the head of his men, fighting, perhaps, in vain.
"The Wolkenstein bridge stands firm, at all events," Waltenberg continued. "Herr Elmhorst ought to be satisfied with that, and not expose himself so foolishly, as he does at every opportunity. He is no coward, it must be admitted, but it is folly to risk his life to save every dike that is threatened. He does wonders at the head of his engineers and labourers, who follow his lead blindly. They had better take care, or he will drag them with him to destruction."
There was a cold, calculating cruelty in his way of speaking to his betrothed of the peril threatening the life of the man whom he knew she loved. She turned and gave him a sad, reproachful glance: "Ernst!"
"Beg pardon?" he asked, without heeding her glance.
"Why do you avoid the frank explanation which I have so often tried to give you? Do you not wish for it?"
"No, I do not desire it. Let us be silent about it."
"Because you know that your silence torments me more than any reproaches, and because it gives you pleasure to torment me."
The girl's eyes flashed, but her passionate outbreak was met with icy coolness: "How you misapprehend me! I wish to spare you a painful explanation."
"And why? I do not feel guilty. I will neither deny nor conceal anything–"
"No more than you did at our betrothal!" he interposed, severely. "You were very frank then–about everything save the name. You intentionally left me in error,–an error for which I was originally accountable."
"I feared–"
"For him–of course! I perfectly understand that. But reassure yourself. I am not particular as to time; I can wait."
Erna shuddered at his strange, significant words: "Wait–for what? For God's sake tell me what you mean!"
His smile was cold and cruel as he replied, "How timid you have grown! You used to be braver; but in fact there is one thing which can inspire you with absolutely senseless terror, as I have seen."
"And for this one thing you force me to do penance daily! It is an ignoble revenge, Ernst. I will refuse you no answer, no confession, that you ask for: only tell me, have you spoken with Wolfgang Elmhorst since that day?"
A full minute passed before Ernst replied, during which he studied her every feature intently. "Yes," he said slowly, at last.
"And what passed between you?" Her voice trembled with suppressed anxiety, though she tried hard to control it.
"Excuse me, that is a matter between Herr Elmhorst and myself. But you need not distress yourself: I found Herr Elmhorst quite ready to forestall my wishes, and we parted, understanding each other perfectly."
He emphasized every word ironically, and his irony drove Erna to the last extremity. Hitherto she had mutely endured everything lest she should irritate him still more against Wolfgang. She knew that he would fain be revenged upon him; but now, thoroughly roused, she said, indignantly, "Take care, Ernst; do not go too far. You may repent it. I am not yet your wife; I can still release myself–"
She did not finish her sentence, for Waltenberg's grasp upon her wrist was like steel, as he muttered, "Try it; the day that you sever the tie between us is the last of his life."
Erna grew pale: his face told her more than his threat. Now that he had dropped the mask of coolness and irony there was in his expression something tiger-like, and the evil fire in his eyes made her shudder. She knew he would suit his deeds to his words.
"You are horrible!" she said, below her breath. "I–submit!"
"I knew it," he said, with a laugh. "My arguments are convincing."
He slowly released her hand, for Molly, having got over her fit of the sulks, entered the room, curious to know how all was faring in Oberstein, what her cousin Benno was doing, and how it looked along the railway; she had, as usual, a thousand questions to ask.
Waltenberg replied courteously; he had instantly recovered his self-possession, and one would never have suspected the tiger-like nature that he had betrayed a moment before.
"If it would give you pleasure, and you are not afraid of the rain, we might ride down," he said, after a detailed description of the freshet.
"Pleasure!" cried Molly, who with all her waywardness was truly tender-hearted. "How can you use the word in view of such misery?"
"True," Ernst replied, with a shrug, "a single man can avail nothing; but I assure you the spectacle is extremely interesting."
Erna uttered no word of reproof, but this utter selfishness inspired her with horror. Down below there, hundreds were expending their utmost force to preserve a bold creation upon which they had laboured for years; enormous sums of money were at stake, and, moreover, the poor mountaineers were threatened with the loss of their little all. Ernst had not one word of compassion or of sympathy in view of this calamity; he regarded it all as a very interesting spectacle, and if he experienced any other sensation, it was satisfaction that the work of his enemy was menaced with ruin.
And this man would force her to spend an entire, long life at his side; she must belong to him body and soul; and should she rebel and try to break the chain which she had almost involuntarily allowed to be thrown around her in a moment of surprise, he threatened her with the death of him whom she loved, and thus disarmed her. He had found a menace before which all defiance, all opposition, vanished.
The president's voice was heard in the next room giving orders in an agitated tone, and the next moment he appeared, very pale, and evidently retaining his composure only by a great effort. According to the latest intelligence, the worst was to be apprehended; he wanted to go down himself and see how matters stood with the railway. Waltenberg immediately declared his intention of accompanying him; and, turning to his betrothed, he asked, as quietly as if nothing special had passed between them, "Will you not come too, Erna? We shall ride to those places that are in the greatest peril. I know you are not afraid."
Erna hesitated for a few seconds, and then hastily consented. She must see what was going on; she could not wait and watch here, looking out into the driving mist which veiled everything, and only hearing reports from the scene of disaster. They were going to the places in the greatest peril; Wolfgang would be there. She should at least see him!
Molly, who did not understand how any one could venture out in such weather, looked after them, shaking her head, as they rode away. Even the president was on horseback, for in the present condition of the roads the mountain conveyances were quite useless; the stout mountain-ponies had much ado to get over the ground through the thick mud. The little party rode on in oppressive silence; now and then Waltenberg made a brief remark, which was scarcely heeded. They took their way first to the Wolkenstein bridge.
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE AVALANCHE
The Wolkenstein had shrouded its crest more closely than ever: heavy clouds were encamped about its peak and floated around its cliffs; wild glacial torrents were rushing down from its ice-fields, and blasts of wind raged over it day and night. The Alpine Fay was extending her sceptre over her domain; the savage queen of the mountains was revealed in all her terrific might, in all her terrible majesty.
The autumnal tempests had often been disastrous: more than once they had brought freshets and avalanches; many a village, many a lonely mountain-range, had suffered; but such a catastrophe as this had not occurred in the memory of man. Strangely enough, the hamlets were comparatively spared; the storms and floods threatened the railway, which, following the course of the stream, traversed the entire Wolkenstein district, and with its myriad bridges and structures offered many a point for attack.
The engineer-in-chief had, with his accustomed foresight and energy, adopted precautionary measures from the first. The entire force of labourers was called out to protect the railway; the engineers were at their posts day and night. Elmhorst seemed to be everywhere at once. He flew from one threatened spot to another, exhorting, commanding, inspiring courage, and exposing himself recklessly to danger. His example fired the rest: all that mortal energy could do was done; but human strength is vain in a conflict with the unfettered elements.
For three days and nights the rain had been pouring in torrents; the countless veins of water, wont to trickle harmlessly and in silver clearness from the heights, rushed in cataracts down into the valley; the brooks were swollen rivers, breaking through the forests, and tearing away with them huge rocks and uprooted pines, all hurrying towards the mountain-stream, whose waters steadily rose, and dashed their foaming, tumbling waves against the railway-dikes. They could no longer resist the savage onslaught, and at last they were flooded here and torn down there,–the wet, soggy ground gave way everywhere and carried with it woodwork and masonry. The bridges too could no longer resist; one after another succumbed to the assault of the waves, the force of which it was vain to try to stem. In consequence of the pouring rain, both ground and rock gave way; one of the stations was entirely destroyed, and the others were much injured. The raging wind increased tenfold all danger and the difficulty for the labourers. Had the engineer-in-chief not been at their head, the people must have given up in despair, and have merely looked on at the destruction they thought themselves powerless to prevent.
But Wolfgang Elmhorst fought the battle to the bitter end. Step by step, as he had once conquered this domain, he now defended it. He would not succumb, would not give over his work to ruin; but whilst he was thus putting forth all the energies of his nature in saving it from destruction there rang in his ears incessantly the last words of old Baron von Thurgau: 'Have a care of our mountains, lest, when you are so arrogantly interfering with them, they rush down upon you and shatter all your bridges and structures like reeds. I should like to stand by and see the accursed work a heap of ruins!'
The gloomy prophecy seemed near its fulfilment, after all these years. Forests and rocks had been penetrated, streams turned aside, and the spacious mountain-realm bound in the iron fetters that were to make it subservient to human purposes. Men had boasted that they had subdued and chained the Alpine Fay, and now just as their work was drawing to a close she had arisen from her cloudy throne and angrily protested. She was descending in storm and destruction, and before her breath all the proud structures of man's devising were crumbling to ruin. No courage, no energy, no desperate struggle, availed; the savage elemental Force hurled to destruction in the space of a few days all that which it had cost human ingenuity years of toil to effect, laughing to scorn those who had dreamed of subduing it.
The Wolkenstein bridge, it is true, stood secure and firm when everything else was being swept away. Even the white, seething foam tossed aloft by the dashing river did not reach it, suspended as it was at a dizzy height above the abyss. And all the blasts of heaven raged in vain against the iron ribs of the huge structure. It rested upon its rocky foundations, as if built to bid defiance to destruction for all eternity.
The station which served as a temporary habitation for the engineer-in-chief had since the beginning of the storm been the head-quarters where all reports were received and whence all orders were issued. This portion of the railway had been hitherto thought secure, for at this place it crossed one of the narrow, deep valleys, passed over the Wolkenstein bridge, and then on the lofty steep cliffs turned again to the mountain-river, which just here made a large curve. The freshet which was so destructive to the lower stretch of railway could not reach this upper portion. But now glacial torrents had broken loose from the Wolkenstein, and the masses of mud and fragments of rock which they brought with them extended even to the bridge. The danger here must have been imminent, for Elmhorst himself was on the spot directing the labourers.
In the prevailing confusion and hurry the arrival of the president and his companions was hardly noticed; one or two of the engineers, however, came towards them and confirmed the latest reports. In spite of the storm, the work went on with feverish persistence, crowds of labourers were busy near the bridge and also near the station, while the rain poured down in torrents and the wind howled so fiercely that it was often impossible to hear the shouted directions of the engineers.
Nordheim alighted from his horse and approached Elmhorst, who left his post and came to meet him. Both had believed that the interview in which the tie between them had been dissolved would be a final one, but they now saw and talked with each other daily, scarcely conscious, in the magnitude of the disaster that had befallen the railway, of any embarrassment in their relations. They knew best what there was to lose here, and a community of interest still united them closely.
"You are here on the upper stretch?" the president asked, anxiously. "And the lower–"
"Must be given up!" Wolfgang completed the sentence. "It was impossible to secure it any longer. The dikes are broken through, the bridges carried away. I have left only a few of the men to protect the stations, and have concentrated all my available force here. We must control these cataracts at all hazards."
Nordheim's uncertain glance sought first the bridge, and then the station, where a number of men were busy: "What are they doing there? You are having the house cleared out?"'
"I am having the books and papers, the plans and drawings, carried to a place of security, for there is danger of an avalanche from the Wolkenstein; we have had one or two warnings."
"That too!" the president muttered, in despair; then, turning suddenly, as a thought struck him, "Good God! you do not think the bridge–?"
"No," said Wolfgang, drawing a deep breath. "The enclosed forest protects the abyss, and the bridge with it; no avalanche can break that down. I foresaw and provided for this danger when I planned it."
"It would be fearful," Nordheim groaned. "Tho injury even now is incalculable. Should the bridge go all is lost!"
The frown on Elmhorst's brow deepened at this outburst of despair.
"Control yourself!" he said, in a low tone, but with emphasis. "We are observed; every one is looking at us. We must set an example of courage and hope, or the people will lose heart."
"Hope!" the president repeated, catching at the word as a drowning man clutches a straw. "Have you really any hope?"
"No; but I shall fight to the last."
Nordheim looked the speaker in the face. His pale, stern features gave no hint of the tempest raging within, and yet for him everything was at stake. After the fading of his dreams of wealth and power, his work was all that was left to him upon which to build a future if he lived, and to be at least his enduring monument if he should fall by Waltenberg's hand. It was now imperilled. And yet he stood erect and struggled on, while the president was the image of impotent despair. What did he care if others observed his hopelessness? What was it to him that an example of courage was expected from a man in his position? He thought only of the gigantic losses which the catastrophe would cause him,–losses which might ruin him.
"I must return to my post," said Wolfgang. "If you stay, choose carefully the spot where you stand. Stones and earth are continually sliding down: we have had several accidents already."
He turned again towards the bridge, and then first noticed that Nordheim had not come alone. For a moment he paused, and his glance sought Erna. He divined what had brought her hither; he knew that she feared for him, but he made no attempt to approach her, for at her side was the man to whom she belonged, who, mute and inexorable as fate itself, considered her absolutely his property. Waltenberg marked the anxious glance of distress which followed Wolfgang as he returned to his men and took up his stand on a threatened dam, and, as if by accident, he put his hand upon the bridle of the other horse and held it fast.
Suddenly behind the pair Gronau's tall figure appeared; muddy and drenched, but entirely at his ease, he slowly approached. "Here we are," he said, with a bow. "We come directly from Oberstein, but we swam rather than walked."
"We?" asked Ernst. "Is Dr. Reinsfeld with you?"
"Yes; we succeeded at last in bringing the Obersteiners to their senses and in convincing them that their home was not in danger this time. It was a hard piece of work, and we were scarcely through with it when a messenger arrived from the engineer-in-chief to ask the doctor to come and see after some men who had been accidentally injured. The good doctor, of course, ran his fastest, and I ran too, for I thought another pair of stout arms might not come amiss, and it was well I did so. I have established myself in the house there as hospital nurse, and have just come for an instant to let you know I am here, for my hands are quite full."
"There have been accidents, then. I hope nothing serious?" Erna asked, eagerly.
Gronau shrugged his shoulders; "One of the men was carried away by a cataract and fished out in a mangled condition; the doctor is afraid he cannot pull him through; and another was struck on the head by a fragment of falling rock; his case too is serious; the others are only slightly injured."
"If Dr. Reinsfeld needs help I am ready to do all I can," the young girl declared, turning her horse as if to go to the house Grouau had pointed out.
"Thanks, Fräulein von Thurgau, we can get along very well by ourselves," Veit replied, while Waltenberg looked at his betrothed in surprise.
"What, Erna, you? There are others to do that work. Gronau is helping the doctor. Why so superfluously heroic?"