Under a Charm. Vol. II

Wanda shivered at the look which accompanied these words. "And you, a mother, can speak such words!"

"They are the words of a deeply offended mother, whom her son has driven to desperation. There can be no peace between Waldemar and myself while we both of us tread the same soil. Where I place my foot, I find him barring the way; when I attempt to exert my power, he is there on the defensive. What plans of ours has he not thwarted already! What have we not been obliged to sacrifice, to give up on his account! He has gone so far that we now stand opposed as mortal enemies. He is alone, is he?–let him bear alone, then, all that this enmity may bring down on his head."

Her voice was very cold and hard. That touch of maternal feeling, of a gentler emotion, which for a moment had softened it, had long since vanished. It was the Princess Baratowska who now spoke, one who never forgave an injury, and in whose eyes no injury could be so great as that of robbing her of her supremacy. Waldemar had been guilty of this, and he, least of all, would be forgiven the crime.

She was about to leave the room to prepare for her journey when her look fell on Wanda.

The girl had uttered no syllable in reply. She stood motionless; but her eye met the Princess's with such a look of stern resolution that the latter stopped.

"I must recall one thing to your mind before I go," said she, laying her hand firmly on her niece's arm. "If I do not warn Waldemar, no one else must do so–it would be treason to our cause. Ah, why do you start at the word! How would you describe it, if by letter or word of mouth, through a third or fourth hand, information were conveyed to the master of Wilicza which exposed our secrets to him? He would go under escort, very probably; but go he certainly would, in order to find out the meaning of the warning–why he was not to set foot in his own station, not to speak to his own forester whom he is about to call to account for a conflict with the patrols. It would cost us the border-station. Wanda, the Morynskis have hitherto never had cause to repent making the women of their house the confidants of their plans. There has never yet been a traitress among them."

"Aunt!" cried Wanda, in such a tone of horror that the Princess slowly withdrew her hand from her niece's arm.

"I only wished to make clear to you what is at stake. I suppose you will like to be able to look your father in the face on his return. How you will meet Leo's eye while your mind is racked by an anxiety you in vain strive to conceal, I know not. You must settle that matter with himself; but"–here the proud woman's terrible agitation broke through the constrained coldness of her tone–"but, could I ever have dreamed that such a blow would one day menace my son–that it would come upon him through Waldemar–instead of favouring Leo's unhappy love for you, I would have opposed it with my whole strength. Now it is too late for him–and for you too–the present hour has taught me that."

The young Countess was spared an answer, for Pawlick now came in to say that the horses had been put to. The Princess did not require much time for her preparations. In ten minutes she was equipped for her journey, and at once went down and entered the sledge which was waiting for her below. She took leave of her niece briefly and hurriedly, in the presence of the servants, and no further allusion was made to their previous conversation; but Wanda understood the parting glance which met hers. She laid her damp icy-cold hand in her aunt's, and the Princess appeared satisfied with the dumb promise.

Countess Morynska went back to the morning-room, and shut herself in that she might breathe freely once more; but relief is hard to find when one has such a mountain load on one's heart. She was alone at last! alone with her own thoughts, but also with her anxiety and that strong presentiment of evil in which the mother would place no faith. To call it forth, the instinct of love was needed, and no such instinct had ever stirred in the Princess's heart towards her eldest son; it came into play only when Leo and Leo's interests were concerned. Had she known that Waldemar's life would indeed be imperilled by the expedition, she would have said no word to hold him back, for might not such a word have wrought injury to her party and her party's cause?

Wanda stood at the writing-table, on which lay the letters from her father and Leo. One short warning, two or three lines hurriedly traced on the paper and sent over to Wilicza, might prevent it all! Waldemar would listen to the warning, whether he guessed from whom it was sent or not; he had promised to be more prudent, and he was well enough acquainted with the temper of the people. If, after all, he still went, he would at least go accompanied, so that they would not dare to attack him. He would not find it difficult to compel obedience, if once he determined to call in force to his aid. That which had passed at the border-station went very nigh open revolt. It would cost the master but a word to have the forester arrested and the station garrisoned by the troops–then he would be at peace.

And then! The Princess had taken a clear view of the case, and had spoken plainly of what would follow. She had taken good care that her niece should not get beyond that thought: 'and then!' Wanda had been so far initiated into the plans of her party as to be aware that the border-station now played the part which had been formerly destined to the Castle–all the machinations, which Waldemar's severe edict had banished from his home, were now carried on out yonder. There some portion of the supply of arms still lay hidden; the point of juncture was there, the centre whence messages were despatched, where news was received; much therefore depended upon the present forester's retaining his post. He knew this as well as his mistress, and the knowledge made him determine to stay on and brave the worst.

Nordeck himself but seldom visited the solitary distant station. He had too much to occupy him at Wilicza to bestow any special attention to that outlying post. Evidently he was only going over now in order, by his personal intervention, to quell a resistance such as he often encountered, and to which he attached no peculiar importance; but should he discover that at the forester's house his orders were openly scoffed at, that here a systematic opposition was organised against him, he would act, regardless of friend or foe, would go straight forward to his aim, and would forcibly deprive his mother of this last outpost, this last footing on his territory. Yet the discovery would be inevitable so soon as the fact was betrayed to him that some danger threatened him at that particular place.

All this stood out with inexorable distinctness before Wanda's mental vision; but just as clearly did Waldemar's danger face her whichever way she turned. She felt the most positive conviction that the bullet which but a short time before had jeopardised his life, had sped from the forester's rifle; that the man, whose hate and fanaticism urged him on to an attempt at assassination, would not hesitate to commit an assault on his master, if the latter stood before him alone, at his mercy! And she was to let him go unwarned, to let him go, perhaps, to his death!–Treason! Before that terrible word all her strength of will gave way. She had always been her father's confidant. He counted on his daughter's loyalty with absolute faith, and would have put from him with indignation the thought that she would ever betray a word of his secrets–betray it to save the life of an enemy. She herself had menaced Leo with her contempt when, in a paroxysm of jealousy, he had hesitated to fulfil his duty. Now this same duty, which had merely torn him from his beloved's side, and carried him into the thick of the fight, inflicted on her a far harder ordeal, the hardest of all, that of waiting the gradual approach of a danger, which by one stroke of her pen she could avert, of standing by silent and inactive, not lifting her hand to make that stroke!

All these thoughts rushed in rapid succession through the young Countess's mind, almost prostrating her energies. In vain she sought an outlet, a way of escape. The terrible alternative stared her in the face, look which way she would. If, up to this time, she had really been unaware of the state of her feelings, the present hour would have revealed it to her. For months past she had known Leo to be in danger, had feared for him as for a near and dear relative, had suffered anxiety, no doubt, but had borne that anxiety with a lofty composure, a heroism equal to that displayed by his mother; but now it was Waldemar who was in peril, and all Wanda's composure, all her heroism, was scattered to the winds, vanquished by the mortal dread which thrilled through her at the thought of his possible fate.

But there is a crisis in such moments of misery when the fiercest, the most cruel anguish gives way to a sort of stunned insensibility, the very faculty of suffering being exhausted, for the time being at least. More than an hour had passed since Wanda had shut herself in, and her drawn and agonised features bore witness to all that she had endured in the interval; now there came to her one of those moments when she could no longer struggle or despair, when she could not even think. Faint and weary she threw herself on to a chair, leaned back her head, and closed her eyes.

Then once more arose before her the old dream-picture which once long ago had shaped itself mid the glow of sunshine and the murmur of the waves, weaving its charm round two youthful hearts all unconscious as yet of what it portended to them. Since that autumn evening by the forest lake it had risen so often, so persistently–by no effort of will could it be dispelled, or scared away. The day before yesterday it had been with them again on their lonely journey through that wintry land. It flew with them over the broad snow-fields; it glimmered out from the distant mist of the horizon, hovered in the dense masses of cloud which hung so low over the earth; no desolate gloom, no icy chill could lay that fair phantom–now again it appeared suddenly before her, as though evoked by some magician's wand, all radiant in its golden glory. Yet Wanda had fought against it with all the passionate earnestness, the energy of her character. She had placed distance between herself and this man whom she was determined to hate, because he was not the friend of her people, had sought her salvation in the strife now so fiercely blazing between the two nations; but of what avail this desperate battling with a superior force? Victory had not been achieved despite of all her struggling. This was no mere dream–she could no longer deceive herself. She knew now the nature of the charm which had worked on her one summer evening long ago on the Beech Holm, knew that in that hour by the forest lake the half broken threads had again been taken up, and this time indissolubly united. At length she recognised the treasures which the old enchanted city had opened to her gaze for a few fleeting minutes, only to sink with them once more into the depths. In one respect only the legend had spoken truly–the memory of that vision was not to be effaced, the longing for it not to be stilled. Through hatred and strife, through the distant clang of war and the low murmur of rebellion came a sweet, mysterious music as of Vineta's bells chiming from below the waters.

Wanda rose slowly. The fearful conflict in her mind, the struggle between love and duty was over. Those last minutes had decided her. She did not hurry to her writing-table, or lay a finger on her pen. There was to be no message, no warning. She drew back the bolt from the door, and next instant a sharp, clear ring summoned the servant to her. Countess Morynska leaned on the table by which she stood. Her hand trembled; but her face wore the calm of an unalterable resolution.

"And if it really comes to the worst, I will interfere," she said, with lips which quivered a little. "His mother in her cold indifference will let him go to meet the danger. It shall be my task to save him."

END OF VOL. II