The Alpine Fay

"Do you want me to present you to the ladies in that coat?" he said, irritably. "Why did you not put on your dress-coat, at least?"

"I have no dress-coat," Benno said, by way of excuse. "There is no use for one here, and it would have been a needless expense; but I have had my old hat ironed out, and I bought myself a pair of gloves in Heilborn."

He produced from his pocket as he spoke a huge pair of gloves, intensely yellow of hue, and displayed them with much self-satisfaction to his friend, who looked at them in dismay.

"But, good heavens, you are not going to wear those monsters!" he cried. "They are a great deal too big for you."

"But they are quite new, and such a fine yellow," Benno rejoined, disappointed, for he had reckoned upon some expression of approval of his unwonted outlay in the interest of his toilet, having made up his mind to such expense only after due consideration.

"You will cut a pretty figure at the Nordheims'," said Elmhorst, shrugging his shoulders. "There is positively nothing to be done with you."

"Wolf, must I pay this visit?" the doctor asked, in a tone of piteous entreaty.

"Yes, Benno, you must. I want you to treat Alice while she is here, for her wretched health makes me very anxious. She has had all sorts of physicians in town and at Heilborn, but each one's diagnosis is different from all the rest, and not one of them has done her any good. You know how highly I rate your medical skill, and you will not refuse to do me this favour."

"Certainly not, if you desire it; but you know my reasons for wishing to avoid any personal intercourse with the president."

"What! that old difference with your father? After all these years, who remembers it? Hitherto, in accordance with your wishes, I have not mentioned your name, but now when I ask your help for my betrothed I am forced to introduce you. Besides, you will not meet my future father-in-law, for he was going back to town this morning. Confess, Benno, your true reason is that you are so used to practising among your peasants that you would if you could avoid intercourse with ladies."

Perhaps he was right in this conjecture, for Reinsfeld did not contradict him, he only sighed profoundly.

"You will absolutely degenerate in the life you lead," Wolfgang went on, impatiently. "Here you have been planted for five years in this wretched little mountain-nest with a practice which makes the most tremendous demands upon you, and brings you but the poorest remuneration, and here you will perhaps stay all your life, only because you have not the courage to grasp anything else that offers. How can you endure such an existence?"

"My home certainly does present an aspect unlike that of your rooms," said Benno, good-humouredly, as he looked around him. "But you always had the tastes of a millionaire, and years ago you determined to be one, and you understand how to grasp fortune boldly; no one can deny that."

Elmhorst frowned, and replied, in an irritated tone, "What! you too? Must I always be assailed by these hints as to Nordheim's wealth, as if my importance were entirely due to my betrothal? Am I nothing of myself any longer?"

Reinsfeld looked at him in surprise: "What do you mean, Wolf? You know that I enjoy your good fortune with all my heart, but you are strangely sensitive whenever I allude to it, although you certainly have every reason to be proud, for if ever a man achieved a speedy and brilliant success, you are that man."

Upon Wolfgang's writing-table stood a photograph of Alice in a richly-carved frame. It was a likeness, but a very unflattering one; there was little justice done to the delicacy of her features, and the eyes were entirely without expression. That slender, overdressed girl produced the impression of one of those nervous, superficial creatures who are so frequently to be met with in the fashionable world. This seemed to be Dr. Reinsfeld's opinion; he looked at his friend and then at the picture, remarking, drily, "Your attainment of your goal, however, has not made you happy."

Wolfgang turned upon him: "Why not? What do you mean?"

"Come, come, do not be angry again. I cannot help it, you are much changed from the Wolfgang of a few months ago. I hear of your betrothal, and expect you to return to me beaming with the triumphant consciousness of the realization of all your plans, instead of which you are now always grave, not to say out of humour, and irritable to a degree,–you who used to be so even-tempered. What is the matter with you, Wolf? tell me."

"Nothing. Let me alone," was the rather peevish reply; but Benno went up to him and laid his hand upon his shoulder:

"If your betrothal had been an affair of the heart I should think something there had gone wrong, but–"

"I have no heart; you have told me so often enough," Wolfgang interposed, bitterly.

"No, you have nothing but ambition,–absolutely nothing," Reinsfeld rejoined, seriously.

Elmhorst made an impatient gesture: "Don't lecture me again, Benno! You know we never shall understand each other on that point. You are, and always will be–"

"An overstrained idealist who would rather eat dry bread with the darling of his heart than drive about in a gorgeous equipage beside a grand wife whom he did not love. Yes, I am unpractical in the extreme, and since at present I have not bread enough for two, it is fortunate that there is no darling of my heart."

"We must go," said Wolfgang, rising; "Alice expects me at twelve o'clock. And now do me the favour to look your best. I do not believe you know even how to make a bow."

"My patients are glad enough to be cured without one," said Benno, defiantly. "And if I do you no credit in your betrothed's society, it is your own fault: why do you take me there like a lamb led to the slaughter? I suppose Fräulein von Thurgau is there too?"

"She is."

"And has she grown to be a grand lady too?"

"I suppose you would call her so."

These answers were not very reassuring to the poor doctor, who looked forward to this visit with positive dread. He did not rebel, however, for he was accustomed to yield to his friend. So he took from the table his hat, which, in spite of its late ironing, did not belie its years, and prepared to draw on the yellow gloves, saying, submissively, "Well, then, what must be, must."

Beyond the line of railway, about half a mile from the future station, lay the president's new villa. The house, built after the fashion common in the mountains, with an overhanging roof and graceful galleries, accorded well with its surroundings, while everything within was arranged to suit the grand scale upon which Nordheim's mode of life was conducted. The views of the finest portions of the mountain-range were magnificent, the meadows about the villa had been laid out in gardens, and the adjoining forest so cleared as to form a natural park. There had been an immense outlay of money that the place might serve for a six-weeks' residence in the summer, but Nordheim never took the expense into account when he laid his plans, and had given his architect carte blanche. Elmhorst had, in fact, created a masterpiece of beauty in this mountain-retreat, and it was to be his wife's property.

Within, all appearance of simplicity vanished. The sunlight came through costly coloured glass to fall upon brilliant rugs and hangings, while carpeted stairs and corridors led to suites of apartments which, if not so splendid as those in the city, quite equalled them in luxury, and from every room there was an exquisite distant view.

Hither the president had now brought his family, and Alice was to pass the summer months here for the sake of the mountain-air which had been prescribed for her. As usual, Nordheim himself had no time to spend in relaxation; he stayed only long enough to oversee the work on the railway before he was recalled to town by business. He had intended to take his departure in the early morning, but several letters had arrived to which he was obliged to attend, and this had delayed him for a few hours. His carriage was waiting while he himself sought out his niece, with whom he wished to speak before leaving for town.

Erna's room was in the upper story; the glass door leading out upon the balcony was open, and outside lay Griff comfortably stretched out in the sunshine.

The dog was almost the only relic left the girl of her home; but Griff she had insisted upon taking with her when she left Wolkenstein Court, in spite of the opposition of her uncle and of Frau von Lasberg, who could not endure 'the creature.' At the suggestion of leaving it behind there had been a scene; Erna had positively refused to go from the house unless Griff accompanied her, and Nordheim had yielded at last upon condition that the dog was never to be admitted to the drawing-room.

This condition had been fulfilled; and, moreover. Griff had grown extremely well behaved, and it would now never have occurred to him to raise a riot in any room. He was no longer a puppy, but had developed into a magnificent animal. There was something lionlike in his appearance as he lay with huge, tawny paws stretched out, his large black eyes following every movement of his young mistress.

Something special must have occurred to bring the president thus to Erna. He was wont to have neither time nor inclination for the joys of domesticity; he was absent from his home for weeks and months at a time, and when there, was seen by his family only at meal-times. Even his relations with his daughter were far from intimate, and with his niece he stood on a very formal footing. He lived and moved in the world of affairs; everything else was subordinate to his business interests.

He entered Erna's room in his travelling-suit, and said, without sitting down and as if by the way, "I wanted to tell you that an hour ago I had a letter from Waltenberg. He came to Heilborn yesterday, intending to spend some weeks there, and will probably pay you a visit to-morrow."

The words seemed to be carelessly spoken, but they were accompanied by a keen glance at Erna, who received the intelligence with indifference, and replied, "Indeed? I will let Alice and Frau von Lasberg know."

"Frau von Lasberg knows it already, and will pay him all requisite attention; but I should wish a certain regard accorded him from–another quarter. Do you hear, Erna?"

"I was not aware, uncle, that I had seemed regardless of your guest."

"My guest? As if you did not know as well as I what attracts him to this house, and what has brought him to Heilborn. He wishes to know his fate with certainty, and I cannot blame him for wearying, after being trifled with all these months."

"I have never trifled with Herr von Waltenberg," Erna rejoined, coolly. "I merely thought it best to maintain a degree of reserve with him, since he seems to imagine that he has only to stretch out his hand to obtain whatever he may desire."

"Well, we will not dispute about that, for you seem to have pursued precisely the right course, with your cool reserve. Men like Waltenberg, who make a positive cult of their liberty, and regard all family ties as so many fetters, need to be dealt with very carefully. Too ready a welcome might have made him shy. What is withheld attracts him."

The girl's eyes flashed indignantly: "Such calculation is yours, uncle, not mine!"

"No matter, if it is correct," said Nordheim, paying no heed to the reproach contained in her words. "I have refrained from interfering hitherto because I saw that the affair was progressing as I would have it, but now I desire you no longer to avoid a declaration on Waltenberg's part. I have no doubt that he will shortly propose to you, and your answer–"

"May, perhaps, not accord with his wishes," Erna completed the sentence.

The president turned and looked searchingly at his niece: "What does that mean? You would not be insane enough to reject him?"

She was silent, but the same obstinacy was legible in her face that had characterized the girl of sixteen. Nordheim probably recognized the look and what it foreboded, for he frowned darkly.

"Erna, I confidently expect to find no obstacles in the way of my serious and well-considered plans. The matter in question is your marriage with a man–"

"Whom I do not love," she interrupted him.

Nordheim smiled, half contemptuously, half compassionately: "I supposed there was some exaggerated nonsense in the background. Love! What are called love-matches always end in disappointment. A marriage should be contracted upon a more sensible basis, and Alice sets you an example. Do you suppose that she was influenced by any romantic ideas in her betrothal, or that they have any weight with Wolfgang?"

"Oh, no; least of all with him," Erna said, with evident contempt.

"Which, of course, amounts to a crime in your eyes! Nevertheless I confide to him my daughter's future in the conviction that he will be to her an excellent husband. I certainly should not have chosen an enthusiast for my son-in-law. Waltenberg indeed can allow himself any luxury in the way of romance,–his means are ample. He is as eccentric as yourself; in fact, you are extremely alike, and I cannot understand what objection you can have to him."

"His egotism! He lives only for himself and for what he considers the enjoyment of life. He knows neither country nor profession, neither duty nor ambition, nor does he choose to know them, because they might disturb his enjoyment. Such a man can never live a life of earnest endeavour; he has no future, nor can he love a wife, for he loves himself alone."

"He offers you his hand, however, and that is the matter to be considered at present. If you require in your future husband only ambition and energy, you should have married Wolfgang. He has a future,–for that I'll go warrant."

Erna shrank from him, and her tone was almost sharp as she exclaimed, "Spare me such jests, uncle, I pray you."

"I am not given to jesting; but, by the way, Erna, your relations with Wolfgang are very unpleasant, and the manner in which you conduct yourselves towards each other is most disagreeable for those about you. Let me seriously request you to modify the extreme coldness of your manner to him. But to return to the subject of our talk. You seem to think that you have but to make your choice among a crowd of suitors of one who shall conform to your ideal. I regret being obliged to show you your mistake, but the truth is, you have no choice. A girl without means will certainly be admired and flattered if she is beautiful, but married she will not be, for men are very calculating. This offer is the first you have had, and will probably be the only one; moreover, it is a more brilliant one than you had any right to expect. There is every reason why you should accept it."

His words were not uttered in a tone of well-meant admonition; there was something indescribably heartless and offensive in the way in which President Nordheim explained to his niece that in spite of her beauty she had no claim to be loved and wooed, since she was poor. Erna turned pale, and her lip quivered, but her face was by no means expressive of docility.

"And if, notwithstanding all this, I do not accept it?" she asked, slowly.

"Then you must abide by the consequences. Your position will hardly be an enviable one if you remain unmarried. Alice is to be married next year, as you know."

"And in the same year I shall be of age–and free!"

"Free!" sneered Nordheim. "How grand it sounds! Have you, then, been fettered in chains in my house, where you were received as a daughter? or are you longing for your patrimony? It is the merest pittance, and you are accustomed to the requirements of a lady."

"I lived with my father in the simplest way," said Erna, bitterly, "and we were happy. I have never been so in your house."

The president shrugged his shoulders: "Yes, you are emphatically your father's daughter. He too preferred to live in a peasant's hut rather than, with his ancient name, to have a career in the world. Well, Waltenberg offers you the freedom for which you pine. As his wife you can have wealth and position; he will fulfil your every wish, gratify your every whim, if you but understand how to manage him. For the last time I entreat you to take a rational view of the matter. If you refuse to do so, you and I have done with each other. I have no toleration for exaggerations, which appear to be hereditary in the Thurgau family."

Erna made no reply, and her uncle seemed to expect none, for he turned to go, pausing, however, on the threshold of the door to say, with frigid emphasis, "I confidently hope to find you betrothed when I return. Farewell!"

He left the room, and a few minutes afterwards his carriage rolled down the road.

Erna threw herself into an arm-chair, more agitated than she had cared to show to a man so cold,–a man who regarded her marriage as solely a business arrangement.

Betrothed! She had a dread of the word, so apt to beguile a maiden's ear; and yet she was beloved by this man: the only one who never questioned whether she were rich or poor, but asked only to carry her from this house, where money was all in all, far away into a world of freedom and beauty! Perhaps she might learn to love him, perhaps, in spite of all, he was worthy to be loved. Could she not overcome herself?

She covered her face with her hands. Suddenly she was aware of a gentle touch. Griff had approached unperceived, and was close beside her. He laid his huge head in her lap, and looked at her inquiringly out of his beautiful, large eyes as if he felt his young mistress's grief. She looked up; the dog was the only thing preserved to her from the time of her sunny, happy youth among the mountains with her father, whose idolized darling she had been. He had long been at peace in the grave, his dear old home had vanished from the face of the earth, and his only child lived among those who were strangers to her in spite of the ties of kinship.

Suddenly the girl sobbed aloud, and as she threw her arms about the dog's neck she whispered, "Oh, Griff, if we were only in Wolkenstein Court once more! if these strangers had only never come! They brought death to your master, and to me what was far worse!"