Rudolf, after a pause, began once more—

“You have a good heart, Francis. Ah! I know your reasons. You think I am returned again like the prodigal son, with an empty purse, ‘after eating of the husks which the swine did eat.’ It is just the contrary.”

“Don’t be profane, Rudolf,” said Francis, severely.

“But it is true—I bring money with me, over two hundred dollars in clean greenbacks, as a commencement of restitution, an earnest of my reform. What do you think my father would say if he found them to-morrow morning on his pillow? Don’t you think he would receive me with open arms?”

“No, Rudolf, certainly not. You have broken your word of honour, and for this your father will never forgive you. Don’t talk of restitution. What is this sum in comparison with what you have cost him, and all the suffering you have caused him and me? Such sacrifices as we had made gave us the right to hope you would leave us in peace—forget us.”

Rudolf bowed down his head and heaved a deep sigh. I could not help pitying the unfortunate man. I should have liked to say something in his favour; but the cold, haughty, nay, contemptuous attitude of Francis seemed to impose silence on me. There must be some reason, I felt sure, for her inexorable severity; consequently I remained a passive spectator.

At length Rudolf roused himself from his despondency, drank off a glass of water, and, turning towards Francis, said in his most serious tone—

“Just listen, Miss Mordaunt. It appears to me that, under the pretext of acting as guardian to my father, you oppose a reconciliation between us, without even consulting his wishes; and it is strange that a niece, a granddaughter only, should usurp the position of the eldest son, and refuse to listen to the returning prodigal.”

“Don’t talk to me about your prodigal son,” cried Francis, angrily; “you are not the prodigal son. It is only a passing whim, and you will be carried away again to-morrow by some new idea as you always were.”

“Don’t you be afraid you will lose anything by it,” he said in a bitter tone; “you know I shall never lay claim to my father’s property, even though we were reconciled.”

“Must I then be suspected of cupidity, and by you indeed!” exclaimed Francis, in the greatest indignation.

“I should never accuse you of anything of the sort. On the contrary, I am only too sensible of your generosity. I only mentioned this to set you at ease about any consequences which might result from my reconciliation with my father. To the world I am Richard Smithson, American citizen; but let me have the pleasure of being for the few minutes I stay here Rudolf von Zwenken, who would speak to his old father once more, and take a last farewell of him. How can you oppose such a desire?”

“Your last farewells signify nothing; you always come back again.”

“But if, in spite of your opposition, I go at once and seek my father in the large drawing-room—I have not forgotten my way about the house—who shall hinder me?”

“Do as you like; only I warn you you will find Rolf, who knows you, with grandfather; and Rolf knows his orders, which he will carry out like an old soldier.”

“The devil take Rolf! What’s the old ruffian doing here?” spitefully exclaimed Rudolf.

“The old ruffian does all he can to cheer the declining years of your father, whom you have rendered unhappy by your conduct.”

“My misery would not be complete without your contumely,” sobbed Rudolf. “I came here so cheerful and well disposed.”

“Mr. Rudolf,” I said, “allow me to arrange an interview for you with the General, since Miss Mordaunt declines.”

“Don’t you trouble yourself, Jonker van Zonshoven,” retorted Francis, in her most cold and haughty tone. “I do not decline, but I know it is impossible, and therefore better to say nothing. Rudolf well remembers I threw myself at the feet of my grandfather, and besought him not to send his son into exile unforgiven, and it only added to the pain and sorrow of the scene. Don’t forget, either, that you yourself caused the report of your death to be spread abroad. The old man believed it, and I have since heard him say it was a comfort to him. His fears lest you should be arrested, tried, and condemned, were only set at rest when he heard the news. Would you renew his distress, and put him to these tortures again?”

“It is true, too true—you are right,” said Rudolf, quite breaking down.

“But you shall not leave the house without some refreshment,” returned Francis in a kind tone, now she felt her victory to be certain; “I will go and fetch you something to eat immediately. Cousin Leopold will allow you to have supper and to repose yourself in his room.”

Whereupon she left the room, and I was left alone with this singular cousin of mine.

“Bah!” he said, “our Major is not to be trifled with. What eyes she gave me! I felt as if she would pierce me through and through; and yet she has a good heart—there’s not one in a thousand like her.”

“I think she might have shown a little more of its tenderness towards a relation,” I interposed.

“What shall I say? She knows only my evil deeds as she has heard them recounted by my father. When chance or misfortune has thrown us two together, it has always been under circumstances which could not dispose her in my favour. I have cost her both trouble and money—nay, I even fear her reputation has been called in question on my account. When I was in trouble she came to my assistance, regardless of what public gossip might say. It was at Zutphen. My father’s door was shut upon me. She agreed to meet me in a lane outside the town, a public promenade little frequented at certain hours of the day—in fact, very seldom except on Sundays. But we were discovered; certain idlers took it into their heads to play the spy on us, and Heaven only knows what sort of reports they set flying about the town. The generous girl had pawned her diamonds in order to assist me, unknown to her grandfather. This act of devotion was of course interpreted to her disadvantage. You may think it would be more noble on her part not to remind me of what she has suffered when she sees me again; but, my dear sir, a perfect woman is as scarce a thing as a horse without a defect. Though she were to scratch and to bite me, I would still bow my head in submission to her——”

The entrance of Francis with a bottle of wine, bread and meat, &c., interrupted what he had to say further. He attacked the eatables with a most voracious appetite.

When he had somewhat allayed his hunger, he began—

“Francis, my darling, where am I to pass the night? I cannot go into that part of the house occupied by the General and Rolf, that’s certain. I would go into the stable and sleep in the hay, but that I am afraid the coachman might recognize me.”

“We have no coachman now,” replied Francis, quite pale.

“What! You have sent away Harry Blount?”

“Harry Blount is dead.”

“Dead! Why he would scarcely be thirty years of age. I taught him to ride——but Francis, my angel, you are quite pale; have you also sold your beautiful English saddle-horse?”

“No, Tancredo is stabled at farmer Pauwelsen’s; but it is the recollection of Harry Blount which causes me to turn pale. I—it is dreadful—I was the cause of his death.”

“Nonsense; come, come! In a moment of passion?” (here he made the gesture of a man who horse-whips another). “I did so more than once, but that does not kill a man—and you will not have murdered him.”

“Nevertheless, I was the cause of the brave fellow’s death. It occurred during a carriage drive. We had sold the beautiful greys——”

“What! that splendid pair. My poor father!”

“We had a new horse which we wished to run with the only one left us. Harry wanted to try them himself for the first time, but I took it into my head I would drive them. I got on the box by his side, seized the reins, and, as soon as we were on a piece of level road, they went like the wind. I was proud of my skill, and was rejoicing in my triumph; but still Harry shook his head, and recommended me to be prudent. The sky became clouded, and a thunderstorm threatened us. In my folly, I urged the horses on still faster, though they were already taking the bits between their teeth. Harry became alarmed, and tried to take the reins out of my hands; but I resisted, and would not give them up. In an instant the thunder began to roll, and lightning struck right across our way; the horses took fright and began to rear on their hind-legs. Blount jumped off the box to go to their heads, but tripped, and they passed over his body. In despair, I also jumped from the box at the risk of my life, and the violence of the shock caused me to swoon. When I was again conscious, I saw the unfortunate Blount lying on the road, crushed, with scarcely a breath of life left in him. Within an hour he was a corpse.”

Here Francis burst into tears, and covered her face.

“It is a pity, Francis, a great pity,” replied Rudolf. “For your sake, I would that I had been the victim of this accident rather than Blount. You would have had one burden less to bear. Don’t take it so to heart, my child. I have seen others fall from their horses never to rise again alive. What can we do? Wait till our turn comes, and not make life miserable by thinking too much about it. But,” said he, “you have not yet told me where I am to sleep. Must I go back to the ruin? It is a cold place, and doubly so when I think of the parental castle close by.”

“The truth is, I cannot offer you a room, Rudolf. There is not one suitable for the purpose.”

“But why cannot Rudolf share mine?” I asked; “I will give up my bed to him.”

“No,” he replied quickly; “I will be content with the sofa, if Francis will consent to my staying here.”

“Very well,” she answered; “only you must promise that to-morrow, before daybreak, you will be far away. It is your father’s birthday, and there will be many visitors at the Castle.”

“I will start early, I promise you, Francis.”

“Well, I will once more trust to your word of honour. And now good-bye. It is time for me to go; otherwise my absence will be remarked upon by the gentlemen of the house.”

“Take this purse, Francis; it is a little commencement of restitution; I would I could offer you more, but I have not yet become a veritable Yankee uncle. I have not discovered a gold mine. Accept at least what I can return to you.”

And he spread out the American greenbacks before her.

“Are they real ones, Rudolf?” she asked in a grave tone.

“By heavens, Francis, what do you mean by such a question? I have committed many follies in my life—I have been a fool, a ne’er-do-weel, a spendthrift, I am a deserter—but a forger of false bank-notes! Francis, could you suspect me of such infamy?”

“I wish I had only suspicions, Rudolf; unfortunately I have the proofs.”

“The proofs!” he cried, in a sorrowful tone of voice; “but that’s impossible.”

“What am I to think of the false letters of exchange in which you forged your father’s signature? We have got them under lock and key, these terrible proofs, and they have cost us dear. I have pardoned this fault with the rest, Rudolf; but facts are facts.”

“It is impossible, I tell you!” he answered with firmness. “There must be some terrible mistake in this case, and I trust you will assist me in clearing it up. If my father believes that of me, I am not surprised he should rejoice at my death, nor am I astonished you despise me. However, I solemnly protest to you by all that’s dear to me, I am innocent, Francis.”

“Yet these bills were presented to Baron von Zwenken, and we paid them to prevent a lawsuit. It could not have affected you very much, for you were in America; but my grandfather would have been obliged to retire from the army.”

“Francis, you are possessed of good, sound sense. How dared I have committed such an offence just at the time I was in hiding near Zutphen, at the moment when you were so generously raising funds for my enterprise in America; nay, at the moment when my sincerest desire was to carry my father’s forgiveness with me into exile? Show me these accursed bills, and I will prove my innocence.”

“They are in the General’s possession; I cannot get at them to show you them.”

“If we had them here, I would soon prove to you that it is impossible for me, with my wretched handwriting, to imitate the fine and regular hand of my father. What is your opinion, Mr. Leopold?”

“I believe what you say,” I answered.

“Ah, that’s a relief; it does me good!” he murmured, his eyes filling with tears. “My father has been accustomed to spend his leave in fashionable watering-places; is it not possible for him there to have made the acquaintance of some wretch wicked enough to serve him such a turn?”

“For the last few years the General has not been from home, except one winter which he spent in Arnheim.”

“Can Rolf have done it?”

“No, don’t suspect Rolf; he never had any education, but he’s the honestest man living, and he would pluck out an eye rather than cause the old General any trouble.”

“Then I don’t know whom to suspect. Now take these notes, Francis—they are real, I assure you; take them as a proof you still believe my word.”

“I believe you, Rudolf; but I think you have more need of them than I have.”

“Never mind me; I have a good position now: first rider in the Great Equestrian Circus of Mr. Stonehouse, of Baltimore, with a salary of two hundred dollars a month—is it not splendid? You see I have not lost my old love for horses. Formerly they cost me much money; now they bring me in a living.”

“Well, Rudolf, you might have sunk lower; your business demands courage and address. But I will not accept your money; I never take back what I have given. To-morrow morning we shall see each other again. You need not jump from the balcony and scale the garden wall; I will let you out myself.”

“Ah! you wish to make sure of my departure——”

“I have already said I would trust to your promise. Good night, gentlemen.”