The president made his appearance at the appointed time; until the opening of the railway he was obliged to drive over from Heilborn, and he brought with him Herr Gersdorf, who was to come for his wife. The engineer-in-chief was 'accidentally' absent at a distant post, and could not receive his future father-in-law as usual. Nordheim knew what this meant,--he no longer reckoned upon Wolfgang's compliance,--but he also knew that matters must come to a final explanation.

Molly immediately after dinner invited her husband to walk with her in the grove at the foot of the garden, that she might open her heart to him; but when she would have told her secret she prefaced the revelation by so many mysterious hints, such oracular sentences, that Gersdorf grew uneasy.

"My dear child, pray tell me outright what has happened," he begged her. "I noticed nothing whatever unusual upon my arrival; what have you to tell me?"

"A secret, Albert," she replied, with much solemnity,--"a profound secret, which I adjure you not to reveal. Incredible things have been happening,--here and at Oberstein."

"At Oberstein? Has Benno anything to do with them?"

"Yes!" And here Frau Gersdorf made a long, artistic pause, to give due effect to what was to follow. Then she said, in a tone of the deepest tragedy, "Benno--loves Alice Nordheim."

Unfortunately, the revelation did not produce the desired effect; the lawyer merely shook his head, and observed, with exasperating indifference, "Poor fellow! It is well that he is going to Neuenfeld, where he will soon get such nonsense out of his head."

"Nonsense, do you call it?" Molly exclaimed, indignantly. "And you suppose it can be easily got rid of? You probably could have done so if you had not married me, Albert, for you are a heartless monster!"

"But an excellent husband," Gersdorf, who was quite used to such tragic outbursts from his wife, asserted with philosophic serenity. "Moreover, the case was not similar. I knew that in spite of obstacles I could win you, and then I was sure of your love."

"And so is Benno. Alice loves him also," Molly explained, gratified to perceive that her husband took this announcement much more seriously. He listened in thoughtful silence, while, after her usual lively fashion, she told of the scene on the mountain-meadow, of her concealment among the trees, and of her extremely vigorous efforts to smooth matters, as she expressed it.

"An hour later I had Benno alone by himself," she continued. "At first he would not confess,--not a word; but I should like to see any one conceal from me what I have resolved to find out. Finally I said to him, frankly, 'Benno, you are in love, desperately in love,' and then he denied it no longer, but said, with a sigh, 'Yes, and hopelessly so!' He was in despair, poor fellow, but I told him to take courage, for I would undertake to arrange the affair."

"That must, of course, have consoled him greatly," the lawyer interposed.

"No; on the contrary, he would not hear of it. Benno's conscientiousness is positively something frightful. Alice was the betrothed of his friend,--he could not even allow his thoughts to dwell upon her,--never would he see her again, but if possible he would start for Neuenfeld to-morrow, and a deal more of such nonsense. He forbade me to speak to Alice. Of course, as soon as his back was turned, I went to her and extorted a confession from her too. In short, they love each other dearly, intensely, inexpressibly. So there is nothing for them to do but to be married!"

"Indeed?" said her husband, rather surprised by this conclusion. "You seem to have quite forgotten that Alice is betrothed to the engineer-in-chief."

Frau Molly turned up her little nose contemptuously; that betrothal never had found favour in her eyes, and at present she was inclined to make short work of it.

"Alice never loved that Wolfgang Elmhorst," she asserted, with decision. "She said yes because her father told her to, because she had not the energy then to say no, and he--well, what he wanted was a wealthy wife."

"A very good reason, as you must admit, for disinclination to relinquish her."

"I told you just now, Albert, that I was going myself to undertake the adjustment of the affair," Frau Molly declared, with dignity. "I shall see Elmhorst, and appeal to his generosity, representing to him that unless he wishes to make two people wretched he must withdraw. He will be touched and softened, he will bring the lovers together, and----"

"There will be a most romantic scene," Albert concluded her sentence. "No, that is just what he will not do. You little know the engineer-in-chief if you credit him with such sensibility. He is not the man to withdraw from a connection that insures him the future possession of millions, and he will soon console himself for lack of affection in his wife. And what do you suppose Nordheim will say to your romance?"

"The president?" Molly asked, dejectedly. In the contemplation of her scheme in which she played the part of beneficent fairy, joining the hands of the lovers with all the emotion befitting the occasion, she had quite forgotten that Alice had a father whose word might be decisive in this matter.

"Yes, President Nordheim, who brought about this betrothal, and who will hardly consent to dissolve it, and to bestow his daughter's hand upon a young country doctor, who, with all his courage and capacity, has nothing to give in return. No, Molly, the affair is perfectly hopeless, and Benno is quite right to resign all hope. Even if Alice really loves him, she has promised her hand to Wolfgang, and neither he nor her father will release her. There is no help for it, they must both submit."

He might have gone on thus forever without convincing his wife. She knew what her own obstinacy had effected in uniting her with her lover, and she would not see why Alice could not persist in the same manner. She listened, indeed, attentively, and then cut short any further remarks from her husband by declaring, dictatorially,--

"You do not understand it at all, Albert! They love each other. Then they ought to marry; and marry they shall!"

What could Gersdorf say to refute such logic as this?

Meanwhile, Alice Nordheim was in her father's study, which she rarely entered, and which she must have sought now for some important purpose, for she looked pale and agitated, and as she stood leaning against the window-frame, seemed to be undergoing an inward struggle; yet there was nothing in prospect save an interview between the father and daughter. There was, to be sure, nothing of confidence or intimacy in the relation existing between them. Nordheim, who had surrounded his daughter with all the luxury and splendour that wealth could procure, took, in fact, very little interest in her, as Alice had always felt, but in her docile compliance with whatever her father desired, there had never been any collision between them.

For the first time this was otherwise; she was about to go to her father with a confession, which must, she knew, provoke his wrath, and she trembled at the thought, although her resolution never wavered.

All at once the president's step was heard in the next room, and his voice said, "Herr Waltenberg's secretary? Certainly. Show him in!"

Alice stood hesitating for a moment; her father, who did not suspect her presence here, was not alone, and, agitated as she was, she could not confront a stranger. Probably the man brought some message from Waltenberg, and his business would shortly be despatched. The young girl, therefore, slipped into her father's bedroom, which adjoined his office, and the door of which remained ajar. Nordheim immediately entered the room she had left, and was shortly joined there by his visitor.

The president received him with affable ease. He knew that Ernst in his travels had picked up somewhere an individual who, ostensibly his secretary, played the part of his confidential friend, but he took further interest in the matter. He either had not heard or had not heeded his name; at all events, he did not recognize his former friend. Twenty-five years are long in passing, and such a life as Gronau's had been is a great disguiser. This man with his brown, deeply-furrowed face and gray hair had nothing in his appearance to recall the fresh, merry youth who had gone out into the world to seek his fortune.

"You are Herr Waltenberg's secretary?" It was thus that Nordheim opened the conversation.

"Yes, Herr President."

Nordheim started at the sound of the voice, which aroused dim memories within him. He directed a keen glance towards the stranger, and, motioning to him to be seated, he went on:

"I suppose we shall not see him to-day? Have you a message from him? Your name, if you please."

"Veit Gronau," was the reply, as the speaker calmly seated himself.

The president looked extremely surprised; he examined the weather-beaten features of his former friend, but the memories thus unexpectedly awakened seemed far from agreeable, and he was apparently not inclined to admit that there had ever existed any friendship between himself and his visitor. His manner distinctly indicated the inferior position which he chose to assign to his friend's secretary.

"We are not, then, entire strangers to each other," he remarked. "I was acquainted in my youth with a Veit Gronau----"

"The same who has the honour of waiting upon you at present," Gronau concluded the sentence.

"It gives me pleasure to hear it." The pleasure was but coldly expressed. "And how have you thriven in the mean while? Well, it would seem, your position with Herr Waltenberg must be a very agreeable one."

"I have every reason to be contented. I have hardly reached your heights, Herr President, but one must not expect too much."

"True, true. Human destinies are very various."

"And when men undertake to control them, it all depends upon who can best steer his own boat."

The remark displeased the president as being too familiar; he desired no intimacy with his former comrade, so he said, evasively,--

"But we are straying from the object of your visit. Herr Waltenberg sends you to----?"

"No," Gronau replied, drily.

Nordheim looked at him in surprise: "You do not bring me a message from him?"

"No, Herr President. I have just returned from a journey, and have not yet seen Herr Waltenberg. I announced myself in my capacity of his secretary in order to make sure of your receiving me. I come about an affair of my own."

At this disclosure the president became several degrees colder and more formal, for he suspected some favour to be asked; yet the man seated so calmly before him, looking at him with so searching an expression in his clear, keen eyes, did not look like a suppliant; there was something of defiance in his bearing which impressed Nordheim disagreeably.

"Go on, then," he said, with perceptible condescension. "All relations between us are far in the past, nevertheless----"

"Yes, they date from five-and-twenty years ago," Gronau interrupted him. "And yet it is precisely of what then occurred that I wish to speak,--to pray you to inform me what has become of our--excuse me--of my former friend, Benno Reinsfeld?"

The question was so sudden and unexpected that Nordheim was silenced for a moment, but he was too entirely accustomed to self-control to be long disconcerted by such surprises. One suspicious glance he shot at his questioner, and then, with a shrug, he replied, coldly,--

"You really demand too much of my memory, Herr Gronau. I cannot possibly call to mind all the acquaintances of my youth, and in this instance I do not even remember the name you mention."

"Indeed? Then let me assist your memory, Herr President. I allude to the inventor of the first mountain-railway locomotive,--the engineer, Benno Reinsfeld."

The men looked each other in the eye, and instantly the president knew that there was nothing accidental in his visitor's presence, that he was confronting a foe, and that the words which sounded so innocent barely disguised a menace. He must next know whether the man appearing thus after years of exile were really dangerous, or whether this were merely an attempt to extort money from his possible fears. Nordheim seemed inclined to the latter belief, for he said, frigidly, "You must be falsely informed, I invented the first mountain-locomotive, as is shown by my patent."

Gronau suddenly rose, his dark face flushed still darker. He had devised a regular scheme of action, arranged in his mind how he should attack his opponent and drive him into a corner, until not a chance of escape was left him, but at such audacious falsehood all his prudent plans fell to pieces, and honest indignation got the upper hand of him.

"You dare to tell me that to my face!" he burst out, angrily. "To me, who was present when Benno showed us his invention, and explained it, and you admired it, and praised him! Does your memory play you false there also?"

The president calmly reached for the bell-rope: "Will you leave the house, Herr Gronau, or must I call the servants? I am not inclined to submit to insult beneath my own roof."

"I advise you to let the bell alone," Gronau burst forth, furiously. "Take your choice, whether what I have to say shall be said to you alone, or to all the world. Refuse to listen,--I can find a hearing everywhere else."

The threat was not without effect; Nordheim slowly withdrew his hand. He saw that it would not be easy to deal with this resolute, determined man, and that it would be best not to provoke him further, but his voice was still impassive as he said, "Well, then, what have you to say to me?"

Veit Gronau stepped up to his former comrade, and his eyes flashed: "That you are a scoundrel, Nordheim, neither more nor less!"

The president started, but in an instant burst out, "What! you dare?"

"Oh, yes; and I dare far more, for this is not a matter to be hushed up easily. Poor Benno, indeed, neither could nor would defend himself; he bowed his head beneath the stroke, and suffered more, I fancy, from the consciousness of the treachery of a friend than from the treachery itself. Had I been here at the time you would not have got off with your booty so easily. Don't trouble yourself to look indignant. 'Tis of no use with mc. I know you, and we are alone; no need for play-acting. You had better make up your mind what answer to make when I accuse you in public."

In his excitement his voice rang out clear and distinct. Nordheim made no further attempt to check his words, but he must have felt quite secure, for he never for an instant lost his bearing of calm superiority.

"What answer to make?" he said, with a shrug. "Where are your proofs?"

Gronau laughed bitterly: "I thought you would ask that. Therefore I did not come instantly to you when I heard the sorry tale from poor Benno's son in Oberstein. I have spent three weeks in following up traces. I have been in the capital, in Benno's last place of residence,--even in the town where we were all three born."

"And are they found,--these proofs of yours?" The question was pronounced in a tone of extreme contempt.

"No, nothing; that is, that could convict you. You insured yourself well against discovery, and Reinsfeld meanwhile delayed applying for a patent for his invention because he did not consider it yet complete. That was the time when I left home and you accepted a position in the capital. Poor Benno worked away at his invention and perfected it, building many a castle in the air the while, until one fine day he heard that his invention had been bought and patented; but the patent and the money were both in the pocket of his best friend, of whom they made a millionaire."

"And this is the precious tale you mean to relate to the world?" the president sneered. "Do you actually believe that the assertion of an adventurer like yourself could ruin a man of my standing? Why, you yourself admit the absence of proof."

"Of all direct proof; but what I have learned is quite enough to make the ground hot beneath your feet. Reinsfeld himself made an effort to recover his rights; of course he was unsuccessful, although he found credence here and there. Then he lost courage and gave up all hope. But the matter was talked of; you were forced to defend yourself against suspicion, and now you have as an antagonist not poor, inexperienced Benno, but myself. Look to yourself in this encounter. I have sworn to indemnify the son of my friend as far as is possible for the wrong done to his father, and I am wont to keep my word, whether for good or for evil. As an 'adventurer' I have nothing to lose, and I shall proceed against you ruthlessly and resolutely; I shall forge weapons against you out of all that I have lately learned, and shall publish to the world the suspicion, the knowledge of which was formerly confined to a very narrow circle. We shall see whether the truth can die away unheard when an honest man is ready to vindicate it with his very life."

There was an iron determination in his words and manner, and Nordheim was quite able to measure the power of this antagonist. He seemed engaged in a mental conflict for a minute or two, and then he asked, in a low tone, "What is your price?"

Gronau's lip quivered with a contemptuous smile: "Ah, you are ready to barter, then?"

"It may come to that. I do not deny that such a scandal as you threaten to raise would be very disagreeable to me, although I am far from perceiving any danger in it. If you should propose reasonable conditions I might, perhaps, bring myself to make a sacrifice. Therefore, what do you ask?"

"Very little for a man of your stamp. Pay to Benno's son, young Dr. Reinsfeld, the entire sum which you formerly received for the patent. It is his lawful inheritance, and would be wealth to him in his present circumstances. Moreover, you must confess the truth to him,--privately, for all I care,--and give to the dead his due, at least in his son's eyes. This done, I will answer for it that the matter shall be immediately dropped."

"Your first condition I accept," Nordheim replied, as though he were settling some business transaction, "but not the second. You must content yourselves with the money, which, indeed, will amount to a considerable sum. I suppose you will go shares in it."

"Is that your opinion?" Gronau asked, scornfully. "But how indeed should you know anything of honest, unselfish friendship? Benno Reinsfeld does not even know that I have come to you, or of the conditions I propose, and I shall have trouble enough, God knows, to induce him to accept what is lawfully his, and his only. I should consider it a disgrace to touch a penny of it. But enough of this. Will you accept both conditions?"

"No; only the first."

"I will retract nothing. I must have both the money and the confession."

"Which will place me completely in your power? Never!"

"Good! Then we have done with each other. If you wish for war you shall have war!"

Gronau turned and walked towards the door; the president made as if he would have detained him, then apparently changed his mind, and in another moment it was too late: the door had closed behind Veit.

When Nordheim was alone, he began to pace the room rapidly to and fro. Now when there were no witnesses present it was evident that the interview had nowise left him as indifferent as he had feigned to be. There was a deep furrow in his brow, and in his face anger and anxiety strove for the mastery; gradually he began to be calmer, and at last he paused and said, half aloud, "'Tis folly to allow this to discompose me thus. He has no proof. I deny everything."

He turned towards his writing-table, when suddenly he stood rooted to the spot, and a low cry escaped his lips. The door of his sleeping-apartment had opened noiselessly, and upon the threshold stood Alice, ashy pale, both hands clasped against her breast, and her large eyes riveted upon her father, who recoiled from her as from some spectre.

"You here?" he said, harshly. "How did you come here? Have you heard anything of what has been said?"

"Yes,--I heard everything," the young girl replied, scarce audibly.

Then for the first time Nordheim changed colour. His daughter present at that interview! But the next moment he had collected himself; it surely could not be difficult to divest of all suspicion the mind of this innocent, inexperienced girl who had always yielded so readily to his authority. "It certainly was not meant for your ears," he said, with asperity. "I really cannot understand your playing the part of eavesdropper when you must have heard that a purely business matter was under discussion. You have now been witness to an attempt to blackmail your father,--an attempt which I ought perhaps to have repulsed more decidedly. But such audacious liars have the best men at a disadvantage. The world is ever too ready to credit a falsehood, and where a man is, like myself, engaged in great undertakings, demanding principally the entire confidence of the public, he cannot afford to expose himself to the faintest suspicion. It is better to be rid of such fellows as this man, who live by blackmail, at the expense of a sum of money;----but you understand nothing of it all! Go to your room, and pray do not visit mine in secret again."

His words did not produce the desired effect: Alice stood motionless. She made no reply; she did not stir; and her silence seemed to irritate the president still further.

"Do you not hear me?" he said. "I wish to be alone, and I require that no word of what you have heard should pass your lips. Now go!"

Instead of obeying, Alice slowly approached him, and said, in a strange, nervous tone, "Papa, I have something to say to you."

"About what? Not this attempt at blackmail, I trust? I have explained to you how matters stand, and you will hardly give credence to that scoundrel."

"That man was no scoundrel," the young girl replied, in the same strange tone.

"Indeed?" the president burst forth. "And what am I, then, in your eyes?"

No answer, only the same rigid distressed look riveted upon her father's face. There was no longer any question in it, but a condemnation, and Nordheim could not bear it. He had confronted his accuser with a brazen brow, before his child's eyes his own sought the ground.

Alice caught her breath; at first her voice failed her, but it gained in firmness as she went on:

"I came here to make a confession, papa, to tell you something that might have angered you. I do not care to speak of it now. I have only one question to ask you: Are you going to afford--Dr. Reinsfeld the satisfaction required of you?"

"Not at all, I shall abide by my last words."

"Then I shall give it to him in your stead."

"Alice, are you bereft of your senses?" the president, now really alarmed, exclaimed; but she went on, undeterred:

"He does not indeed need your confession, for he knows the truth; he must have long known it. Now I know why he changed so suddenly, why he often looked at me so sadly, and never would betray what troubled him. He knows everything. And yet he has shown me nothing save kindness and compassion, has used every effort to restore me to health,--me, the daughter of the man who----" She could not finish the sentence.

Nordheim made no further attempt to appear indignant, for he saw that Alice was not to be imposed upon, and he also saw that he must give up the attempt to control her by severity. She had foolishly resolved upon what might ruin him; her silence must be secured at all hazards.

"I, too, am convinced that Dr. Reinsfeld has nothing to do with the matter," he said, more calmly; "that he is sufficiently wise to see the folly of such threats. As for your silly purpose to speak of them to him, I am sure you are not in earnest. What is the affair to you?"

The young girl stood erect, and her face took on an indescribably stern expression quite foreign to it: "It ought indeed to be much more to you, papa! You knew that Dr. Reinsfeld dwelt near us, that he laboured night and day, in absolute poverty, and you never even tried to make good to him the wrong done to his father. Life and mankind have been so cruel to him: he was thrust out into the world in his childhood; as a student he lacked every means of support, while you won millions with that money, built palaces, and lived in luxury. At least do what Gronau asks, papa. You must,--or I shall attempt it myself."

"Alice!" Nordheim exclaimed, between anger and utter amazement at finding his daughter, the gentle, docile creature who had never before ventured to contradict him, now laying down the law for him. "Have you no idea of the meaning of the affair? Would you deliver up your father to his worst enemy, who----"

"Benno Reinsfeld is not your enemy," Alice interrupted him. "If he were, he would long since have made use of the secret to extort from you something quite different from that demanded by Gronau,--for--he loves me!"

"Reinsfeld--loves you?"

"Yes,--I know it, although he has never told me so. I am betrothed to another, and he, who could obtain from you what he chose by threats, is going from here without one demand, without even a word with you, because he would fain spare me the terrible knowledge, which, nevertheless, is now mine. You do not dream of the extent of this man's magnanimity. I now know it all!"

The president stood speechless; he was not prepared for this turn of affairs, for it required no great amount of perspicacity to perceive that Benno's love was returned. The girl's passionate indignation spoke plainly enough, and if Reinsfeld really knew the story of the past--and that he did so seemed beyond a doubt--there was in fact but one explanation of his reserve and his silence in a matter so nearly concerning him. He had relinquished the advantage which his knowledge gave him that she whom he loved might be saved from disgrace. There was nothing therefore to apprehend from him; the father of the girl whom he loved was secure from his revenge, and perhaps he might induce Gronau also to be silent.

"This is an astounding piece of news!" Nordheim said, slowly, after a short pause, during which he had watched his daughter narrowly. "And I hear it rather late. You spoke just now of a confession. What had you to tell me?"

Alice cast down her eyes, and a burning blush replaced the pallor of her cheek: "That I do not love Wolfgang, nor does he love me," she answered, in a low tone. "I did not know it at first myself, but it has become clear to me within the last few days."

She confidently expected a burst of anger from her father, but nothing of the kind ensued; on the contrary, his voice was quite changed, as he said, in an unusually gentle tone, "Why have you no confidence in me, Alice? I would not force my only daughter to contract a marriage in which her heart had no share; but this must be well considered and reflected upon. For the present I only ask that you will not be overhasty in your resolves, but will leave it to me to find a solution of the difficulty. Trust your father, my child; you shall have no cause for dissatisfaction with him."

He stooped to press a paternal kiss upon her forehead, but she shrank away from the caress with an evident expression of dislike.

"What does this mean?" Nordheim asked, with a frown. "Are you afraid of me? Do you not believe me?"

She raised her eyes to his with the same hard, accusing look in them, and her voice, usually so gentle, was inexorably stern, as she replied, "No, papa; I believe neither in your love nor in your kindness. I shall never believe you again,--never!"

Nordheim bit his lip and turned away, mutely motioning to her to leave the room. As mutely she obeyed.

She had rightly divined that the president never for a moment entertained the idea of a marriage between his daughter and the young physician, although he had no scruples in hinting at such a possibility in order to avert for the moment a threatening danger. But he had miscalculated his daughter's insight; the young, inexperienced girl had seen through his device, and, man of iron though he was, he could not endure it. He had preserved his composure in presence of Wolfgang's haughty indignation and of Gronau's threats. His anger had been aroused, and at most he had experienced a vague dread. Now for the first time in his life he felt the sting of shame. Even although the danger menacing him should be averted, he could not away with the consciousness that he was judged and condemned by his only child.