By the afternoon, preparations for the evening greatly increased the noise and confusion. The families of rank from the neighbouring estates arrived, and apartments had to be assigned them. Trunks filled with costumes were brought from town: the performers were to dress in the villa. Barbers and milliners came and went, and through it all the gardeners were bringing palms, orange-trees, and tropical plants from the conservatories. In spite of all the noise and bustle that could be heard in her room, Henriette had fallen into what seemed a refreshing slumber. In the adjoining dressing-room sat Nanni, sewing spangles upon a cloud of gauze that was wanted by the decorators of the stage below-stairs. Kitty softly opened the door, and, bidding the girl pay special heed to her sleeping mistress until her return, she left the room and went downstairs to go to the mill, where she still had some arrangements to make. She avoided the large hall,—it was swarming with people, coming and going,—and turned into the passage beside the ballroom. It was quieter, but at the low door at the end of it leading into the open air stood the councillor, a straw hat on his head, apparently about to go to the tower. He was instructing Anton, his servant, who lodged in the tower, with regard to commissions which he was going to town to fulfil. "Take time enough," he called after him; "I shall not dress before six o'clock." Kitty walked slowly on along the corridor in hopes he would now leave the door and go into the park, but he thrust his hands mechanically into the pockets of his light coat and stood still. He was standing on the topmost of three or four steps, and the view obtained thence of a considerable portion of his beautiful domain apparently delayed his descent. Perhaps he had never before so enjoyed this view in all its wondrous beauty, when the rosy light of the charming afternoon invested it with a tender splendour. The movement of his head showed that his gaze was wandering hither and thither, but the young girl also saw that he was trembling with profound, suppressed emotion, as with his right hand he suddenly covered his eyes. He must have been struggling with the illness of which he had spoken, and which he was determined should not disturb the evening's festivities. She walked more quickly and with less caution, and he turned hastily at the sound of her approach. "Is your headache worse?" she asked, kindly. "Yes; and I have just had a slight attack of giddiness," he answered, in an uncertain voice, as he pulled his hat down over his eyes. "No wonder! If I had had the least idea of the thousand annoyances inseparable from this ball I never would have given it," he added, more calmly, although his manner was not natural. "Those stupid workmen have made all kinds of mistakes in my absence; they did not understand my ideas, and what they had been hammering away at for a week had to be pulled down and put up again in twelve hours. That is why this bustle and noise must go on until the very moment when the curtain rises." He descended the steps slowly and cautiously, as if everything were again swimming before him. "Shall I go back and get you a glass of Seltzer-water?" she asked, as she stood in the door-way; "or would it not be better to send for the doctor?" "No, thank you, Kitty," he replied, in a strangely gentle tone, and his moistened glance rested lingeringly upon the girl who had expressed such kind anxiety, "And indeed you are mistaken if you think Bruck is to be had so easily. He is overwhelmed with practice; I believe he will have to be sent for to leave some sick-bed to come to his very marriage, the day after to-morrow." A sarcastic smile flitted across his face. "My best remedy is, I know," he instantly added, "my vaults in the tower. I am just going there to select the wine for this evening; the air in those cellars will act like a cooling bandage." Kitty arranged her hat upon her head and came out upon the door-steps. "And you are going to the mill? No farther, I hope?" he said, looking at his watch. It was a simple question, and negligently uttered, and yet it seemed to Kitty that he caught his breath as he asked it. Descending the steps, she told him her errand to the mill, and then, nodding a farewell, she crossed the road while the councillor turned towards the tower. Behind the first group of shrubs, she turned and looked after him; he was surely suffering more than he would admit. His knees seemed to tremble beneath him; he had thrust back the hat from his forehead as if his brow were burning, and his eyes were wandering aimlessly over the park. Suddenly her temples throbbed; a vague terror assailed her. That sick man tottering so uncertainly alone in the tower-cellar! Like some fever-bred phantom, the horrible thought that had shocked her once before in sight of the tower again occurred to her. "I pray you, Moritz, be careful with the light," she cried anxiously after him. He might have been deep in thought, or perhaps his nerves were in that unusually irritable state when a loud voice sufficed to terrify; he started as if struck by a shot. "What do you mean by that?" he called back, hoarsely. "Are you seeing ghosts by daylight, Kitty?" he instantly added, with a burst of laughter that mortified his ward, as he vanished among the trees, waving his hand and holding himself erect. Scarcely half an hour later, Kitty was walking along the river-bank. Her errand to the mill accomplished, she found she had time to snatch one sweet, stolen glance at the house by the river. How her heart beat as she saw the weather-cock on the roof gleaming in the sunlight through the quivering birch-leaves! How she started at the crunching of the gravel on the path beneath her tread! She came like an exile to have one last look of a beloved country. She leaned against the trunk of the poplar that stood by the bridge, whence she had stamped that last scene so ineffaceably on her memory,—the peeping children, their heads showing against the brilliant landscape beyond as upon a golden background, the strong stern man by the garden-table seeming crushed by some inexplicable emotion. All was quiet now in the shaded garden. The trees, then in all the pride of spring, were now bending with the load of bright-coloured fruit that filled the air with its fragrance, and the trellis was hardly seen beneath its purple load. Only one shy glimpse towards the corner window, where stood the doctor's writing-table. He was not at home; he was hastening from one bedside to another, driven by professional cares. And he no longer occupied that room. White muslin curtains adorned the window; upon the sill, among the pots of Alpine violets in full bloom, lay a snow-white kitten, and two knitting hands and a woman's head crowned with snowy hair beneath a muslin fichu could be distinguished there; the Frau Dean's old friend was already established. He too had burned his ships behind him; he was ready to go, and the day after the morrow, the "last moment" would come, when her proud, heartless sister would stand beside him in glistening white satin, to become mistress of the mansion to a man of note. Had she once struggled as bitterly—that fair young dame of by-gone days—as did the girl who now, in a burst of tears, clasped her arms about the poplar's slender stem and pressed her brow painfully against the rough, hard bark? She of the legend had once been loved, if deserted at last; no blame could be attached to her; but here an evil jealousy was gnawing at the heart of one unloved, and she whom she envied was—her own sister. A loud footfall behind her made her look around. Franz the miller, with an iron crowbar over his shoulder, was passing by, to look after the upper weir, he said. His presence sent the blood to her cheeks and scared her from her post of observation. While Franz hurried on she walked slowly along the bank of the stream. She could not yet make up her mind to return to the villa; her toilette for the evening would be completed long before Henriette, who was determined to be present at the fÊte, had half finished the adornments which were to make the ravages of disease less conspicuous. The solitude here was so delicious; there was no one to see how red her eyes were, or how angrily her wayward heart was battling with the sinful desires that had urged her hither,—yes, they had been the cause of her coming. She would not spare herself or lie to her own soul! She had not come to see the quiet house, and the dear old friend whose home it was, and she had not been sure that he was not there. She had hoped—what? And when another face than his had appeared at the window the whole place had been to her lonely and deserted. Franz had vanished in the distance. She was approaching the ruin. The circle of water about it glistened, and through the shrubbery she could see the graceful bridge spanning the ditch. At the moment a man was crossing it from the tower. A thick reddish beard covered the lower part of his face; he wore a labourer's blouse, and was driving two roes before him with his stick. They leaped across the bridge and fled into the recesses of the park. Kitty would have paid the man no especial attention—workmen were continually employed in and about the tower—if his conduct had not seemed strange to her. The councillor was very fond of these roes; he was provoked when they strayed into the park, and here this stranger was intentionally chasing them across the ditch! Was he one of the discontented crowd of factory-hands who envied the rich man and wrought mischief to his possessions whenever they could? He turned into a path leading through the park-gates out upon the high-road; she followed him with her eyes until he was lost in the thicket. The resemblance was wonderful! In his carriage and height, in his whole make, indeed, the man in the blouse might have been the councillor's twin brother. She stood involuntarily rooted to the spot, looking towards the tower whence he had come. How charmingly the landscape here harmonized with the structure! How well the modern architect had known how to spare and now to efface so as to weave about the old ruin a romantic charm! Silence reigned again; no sound was heard but the faint flapping of the doves' wings; those graceful sailors of the air were floating in the crimson evening light, slipping through the interstices of the mural crown of the tower as it showed clear against the western sky—No, it was no mural crown! in a flash it was a burning crater, vomiting forth with a noise like thunder a cloud of pitchy vapour into the serene skies. The ground seemed to be torn from beneath the girl's feet. She was dashed to the earth and in an instant immersed in the cool waters of the fosse. What was it? Every one came running from the villa to take refuge in the garden. The house tottered from foundation to roof-tree. An earthquake? As if bereft of all sense, the members of the household stood still in the open air as though expecting to see the earth yawn at their feet. Little rills of water were trickling through the grass of the lawn. The air began to be filled with smoke, and to scatter everywhere on the gravel walks particles of burned material. The panes of plate-glass in the windows were broken; and in the ball-room the huge mirror stretching from floor to ceiling lay shattered into a thousand pieces, the silk and velvet draperies had dropped from their fastenings around the stage, and the workmen had with difficulty escaped injury from the falling framework. Passers-by rushed in from the road, among them Anton, who was just returning from town. "There! there!" they cried to the Frau President, who was leaning half fainting upon Flora's arm, and as they spoke they pointed to the distant portion of the park. There was a fire in that direction, and huge volumes of smoke were pouring upwards so thickly that the sparks showed in its pitchy blackness like rockets in a dark night. "The powder in the tower has exploded!" a voice cried from the midst of the throng. "Nonsense!" Anton replied, with an attempt at a laugh, although his teeth were chattering in his head with terror. "That old stuff has long been past exploding, and the few pinches of fresh which the Herr Councillor had stored there in jest could not have stirred a tile from its place." Nevertheless he ran wildly in the direction of the tower across the flooded lawn,—he knew his master had gone thither. The crowd followed him, whilst the fire-alarm from the neighbouring town began to toll. What had become, in a moment almost too brief to suffice for one human breath, of the Eden which wealth and luxury had evoked from the ruins of knightly splendour? When the black vapour darkened the heavens there had burst into air the infernal force as if from some subterranean fountain; huge masses of granite had been tossed forth to lie here and there half buried in the soft sod of the lawn, having broken strong trees like reeds in their descent, while towards the south the new conservatory stood like a sieve of glass, each splinter sparkling and gleaming in the evening light. There must have been a perfect hailstorm of stones poured upon it, thus to shatter the exquisite toy, so lately the admiration of the capital. It was indeed a sight to horrify the breathless crowd as they emerged from the shrubbery that had partially concealed the extent of the disaster. Had the ghostly ancestress of the Baumgartens indeed lighted the train to put an end to the farce which the modern parvenu was playing above the hoary ruins of the home of her race? Those builders of old must have cemented their walls with iron. The upper portion of the tower, with its machicolated summit, was indeed scattered to all the four winds of heaven, but of the lower and more ancient building only the smaller part had been destroyed; it lay in huge masses near the fosse, whilst the rest still stood threateningly erect in air, and from its depths the yellow flames ascended, greedily devouring every particle of wood or inflammable material within. "My poor master!" Anton groaned, stretching his arms in despair across the ditch, the waters of which had been raised from their bed by the force of the explosion to flow here and there over the park. They were now pouring back again, and dashing once more upon their accustomed way, carrying with them gravel, grass, and the bleeding bodies of slain doves and rooks. The pretty arches of the bridge had vanished, the green artificial hill was seamed by huge rifts, and the old chestnuts which it had nourished were thrust forth from its bosom to lie stretched on the ground, their boughs interlaced like the horns of deer dead in mortal conflict. Of what use were the crowds of men hurrying hither with their fire-engines? There was nothing to save. Where in that glowing crater could be found the costly furniture, the famous collection of ancient tankards, the pictures, statuary, ivory carvings, and rich carpets? As if in ghastly mockery, a crimson silk curtain that had floated uninjured from one of the windows was still hanging from a fragment of stone sill down over the remains of the outer wall, like a stream of blood flowing from some terrible wound. And among the crowd there ran whispers of the piles of gold and silver—or no, papers, bundles of papers, representing incalculable sums, factories, mines, landed property,—all of which the old tower, with its mighty walls, its impregnable locks, and its fosse, had guarded like a dragon. Where were they now? Where were the sheets of iron that had imprisoned them? Had the safes fallen undestroyed into the vaults of the cellar, to await there a future resurrection in defiance of the flames? And what had become of him,—of the man who, as Anton declared, had gone to the tower an hour before to select the wine for the evening's entertainment? All gazed helplessly at the flaming mass, while the faithful servant ran to and fro on the bank of the ditch, wringing his hands, and shouting his master's name across the water. It had been inconceivable folly to keep the powder there where an unguarded lamp was so frequently used. "The old historic powder has had nothing to do with this. Some very different explosive material has been at work here," a loud voice said from the crowd. The speaker was an engineer, and had been passing by the villa at the moment of the catastrophe. "But how came anything else in the cellar?" Anton stammered, standing still, and looking at the speaker with wonder and inquiry. The man shrugged his shoulders with a meaning look, and, turning, was lost in the crowd, whilst the engines did their work. As long as the fire raged, the jets of water hissed upon the flames, the alarm-bell tolled unceasingly, firemen brought planks and poles from the villa to construct some kind of a bridge over the fosse, and the noise and confusion increased from moment to moment. In the midst of it all, a piercing shriek was heard at some distance; on the path leading to the upper weir Franz the miller had been found; a heavy stone had prostrated him and crushed in his chest; the man was dead. This shriek, uttered by his wife as she threw herself upon the body, seemed re-echoed from all parts of the park it was so resounded with cries from hundreds of throats. "Moritz,—they have found him!" the Frau President murmured, with a start. She had sunk down upon a garden-seat not far from the house,—her feet refused to carry her farther. She now made an effort to rise; in vain! The infirmity of age, hitherto so resolutely ignored, asserted itself at this moment of nervous agitation. "Have they found him? Is he dead? Dead?" she stammered, incoherently, her eyes, usually so coldly calm, staring wildly in the direction of the ruin, whilst she clutched the arm of Flora, who was standing beside her. The beautiful woman alone preserved her composure. There above the trees the thick vapour rolled lazily and heavily upwards, painting the heavens far and near in dull ashen gray, and here before the house, with its shattered window-panes, the orange-trees were overturned upon the lawn, where the water trickled and flowed in little rills, to gather in pools in the deep furrows cut by the fire-engines. The air was filled with wild outcries, crowds of people were rushing past each moment from the town, and in the midst of this desolation stood a lovely woman, clad in white, with marguerites on her breast and in her fair curls, pale to the lips, but collected and self-assured in her demeanor,—a being set apart from all personal misfortune. "If you would only loosen your hold of my arm, grandmamma," she said, impatiently, "I might possibly convince you that you are needlessly alarmed. Why must Moritz have perished? Pshaw! Moritz, with his constant good fortune! I am perfectly sure that he is there in the midst of the crowd, safe and sound, and those stupid servants, who, by the way, pay us no attention, except to shout out some unintelligible nonsense in passing, are so frightened that they do not know their own master when they see him." She looked down at the wet sod, and then at her white boot that peeped forth from beneath the flounces of her muslin dress. "One would say I too had lost my senses," she continued, with a shrug, "but I must go and see——" "No, no, you must stay here!" cried the Frau President, grasping the skirt of white muslin. "You will not leave me alone with Henriette, who is still more helpless than I, and is of no use to me? Oh, God, I shall die! If he should be dead, if—what then?" Her head sank upon her breast, that gleamed with diamonds; she looked old and infirm, and her form seemed bent and shrunken in the stiff folds of her yellow moirÉ dress. Henriette crouched upon the seat beside her, ashy pale, with wide, terrified eyes. "Kitty! Where can Kitty be?" she repeated to herself with trembling lips, as if it were a sentence she were learning by rote. "God in heaven grant me patience!" Flora muttered between her teeth. "Such weakness is terrible. Why in the world, Henriette, are you continually asking for Kitty? No one means to take her from you!" She looked impatiently towards the house, but no one was to be seen who could relieve her of her charge; every one had gone to the ruins,—the newly-arrived guests, the footmen, the servants from the kitchen; even the neatly-shod ladies' maids had run through the wet towards the scene of the disaster. But aid approached from town in the persons of the amateur performers, who came breathlessly round the corner of the house. "For heaven's sake, tell us what is the matter!" cried FrÄulein von Giese, rushing up to the lonely group of women. Flora shrugged her shoulders. "We know nothing more than that there has been an explosion in the tower. Every one runs past us; no one answers our questions; and I cannot stir from the spot, because grandmamma has lost her head, and in her agitation is positively tearing the clothes off my back. She imagines that Moritz is killed." The young girls stood as if turned to stone at this horrible idea,—the strong, handsome man who only a few hours before had emptied his glass to the "delights of life" already perished in the flames or crushed to atoms! It could not be. "Impossible!" exclaimed FrÄulein von Giese. "Impossible?" the Frau President repeated, with a mingling of sobs and wild laughter: she had struggled to her feet, but she tottered like a drunken man as she pointed a trembling finger towards the nearest grove. "There—they are bringing him! My God! Moritz, Moritz!" In solemn silence an object was being borne along, and within the circle of those who were accompanying it walked Doctor Bruck, without his hat, his tall figure towering above the rest. Flora flew towards him, whilst the Frau President burst into a fit of convulsive weeping. At sight of the lovely commanding figure the group involuntarily parted. Flora gave one hasty glance at the form extended upon a litter, and instantly turned back to say soothingly, "Be calm, grandmamma! It is not Moritz—— "It is Kitty,—I knew it," Henriette murmured hoarsely, in a voice that was half sob, half whisper, as she staggered across to where the bearers had put down their burden for a minute to take breath. The poor girl lay upon the old-fashioned couch from the doctor's study. Her dress hanging over its side was dripping with moisture. Soft pillows were beneath her back and head; with her eyelids so gently closed and her hands resting so calmly upon her breast, one might have imagined her sleeping, but for the bandage above her brow and the blood trickling down her cheek. "What has happened to Kitty, Leo? What was she doing near the ruin?" Flora asked, approaching the couch, both in tone and in manner displaying more irritation at her sister's supposed forwardness than terror at what had happened. At her previous remark, intended to soothe her grandmother, the doctor had turned in sudden anger; now he seemed not to hear her speaking, so firmly closed were his lips, so stolid was the look which passed her by to rest with interest upon Henriette. The poor invalid stood before him gasping for breath, looking up to him with eyes dimmed with tears. "Only one word, Leo; is she alive?" she stammered, raising her hands clasped in entreaty. "Yes; the concussion and loss of blood have stunned her; the only danger at present to be apprehended is from her wet clothes. The wound on her temple is trifling, thank God!" he answered in vibrating tones, which seemed to come from the depths of his heart, while with all a brother's tenderness he put his left arm around the frail form that could hardly stand upright. "Go on," he said to the bearers, with evident anxiety and impatience. The accompanying crowd dispersed; there was no danger here, and most of them returned to the ruin. The couch was carried on towards the house, past the Frau President, who gazed at the unconscious form as if bereft of all capacity to understand and appreciate. The group of horrified girls stood huddled together, looking helplessly towards the young physician who walked beside the couch without noticing them. He kept his left arm around Henriette's waist; his right hand he had laid lightly upon Kitty's brow, as if to shield her from any shock if consciousness should return. He who was usually so reserved, who so carefully concealed all emotion, the man whom of late all had seen so gloomy and constrained, was now looking down with unconcealed tenderness upon the pale face lying upon the pillows, as if nothing existed for him in the world except this most sacred and dear treasure which he had just snatched from the grave. Flora followed the silent group apart, as if bound by no tie to the three people whom misfortune had suddenly shown to be so closely allied. On the spot where the bearers had rested the water was standing in little pools; she walked through them not heeding the wet, and her long muslin train dragged damp and dirty over the gravelled path. Suddenly she tore the wreath of marguerites from her hair; it was a bitter mockery in the midst of all this horror; she plucked and pulled it to pieces mechanically as she walked along, and the little white stars lay scattered upon the ground over which she had passed. She too passed her grandmother and her friends without heeding them. Her flashing glance rested immovably upon her lover's tall, commanding figure; evidently she momentarily expected that he would turn to her, and thus she followed him step by step to the house and across its threshold. The Frau President called after her; the earth was shaken by another loud crash from the ruins, followed by shouts and cries. She did not look round; the world might be dissolved behind her; she was inexorably resolved to assert her "rights." |