A Hero of the Pen

Henry laughed bitterly. "Spare yourself this deception. I now know all!"

"Then you know more than I!" declared Atkins gravely. "I at least only half understood that scene. This Fernow–well, his sentiment scarce needed expression, he betrayed it plainly enough; but why Miss Jane, at sight of him, shrank back horrified as if she had seen a ghost, is incomprehensible to me."

"And to me also," said Alison with icy scorn. "One is not usually frightened at sight of anything reached at last after such a painful effort."

Atkins frowned. "It is fortunate that Miss Jane does not hear you; she would never forgive you this suspicion. You ought to know her too well to suppose she would start out on a mere aimless adventure, and now you accuse her with a contempt for all the proprieties and moralities, with having come here in pursuit of a man almost a stranger. Do you believe this of Miss Forest? Fie, Henry!"

Alison remained immovable at this reproach; but the old, chilling irony was in his voice, as he replied:

"I know that Miss Forest would die sooner than make the slightest advance of this kind to me; but, well this is not the first time that a woman's pride has been annihilated before a pair of dreamy blue eyes like these."

"You are going too far!" cried Atkins, indignantly. "I promised to be silent, but in answer to accusations like this, Jane herself ought to speak, and if she will not speak, I will! Well then, we are seeking some one here in France; we are in pursuit of a man, but this man is not named Fernow, and does not offer you the least occasion for jealousy. He bears Miss Forest's name and is her brother!"

"Her brother?" repeated Alison in bewildered surprise.

"Yes!" And Atkins now began in a brief, lucid way, to tell the young man all; of Mr. Forest's dying request, of the trace found in Hamburg, and of the subsequent investigations, up to the time of their departure from N. Alison listened in silence for a moment, he seemed to breathe more freely, but his brow remained clouded.

"You are right," he said, "I believe you now; that meeting was not pre-arranged."

Atkins gazed at him in speechless astonishment. And was this all? He had expected another reception of his tidings.

"You seem to quite forget, Henry, how nearly this matter concerns you," he said impressively. "If, as we have reason to believe, this young Mr. Forest lives; if we find him, as we hope to do, it will cost you half the fortune you expect with your bride."

"Ah, is that so?" muttered Alison. "And I would give the other half if she had never set foot on this German soil!"

Atkins started back. He had not thought this possible. If Henry could so entirely forget and deny the merchant in his character; if he could speak in this way of the loss of a fortune, he must be terribly in earnest. He approached the young man and laid a hand upon his shoulder.

"Jealousy makes you blind," he said in a pacific tone. "Whatever there may between these two, and it is doubtless some secret, it cannot be love; Jane's terror at the unexpected meeting, betrayed anything but that."

Alison glanced at him coldly and derisively. "You are very unfortunate in your powers of observation, Mr. Atkins. Who was it that in B. derided my presentiment that I saw danger to my hopes in this consumptive professor? Does he still seem to you laughable and of little account, or do you know at least what powers have lain dormant in this man?"

"I have misjudged him, but I defy anyone to estimate justly the character of a man who for years long, plays the role of a misanthropic hermit and learned investigator, then all at once really explodes as a poet, soars aloft as a hero in war, where to all human foresight it seemed clear that he would subside at the first roar of the cannon; and, at an unexpected meeting, flames up like an eighteen-year-old enthusiast. I tell you it takes a long time to find out these Germans! Once tear them from their commonplace ruts in which they have been wont to tread, and they go on in unaccountable ways. It is so with solitary individuals, it is so with the whole nation. They hurl the pen into a corner, and draw the sword from its scabbard, as if this had been their sole business their whole life long. I fear that for the next hundred years we shall not forget in what hand the pen lay!"

Atkins said all this in a peculiar tone of grumbling admiration; but he remembered at the right time, that such observations were not designed to pacify his young companion, and dropping the subject, he said consolingly:

"But Henry, however things may turn out, Jane remains yours. You have her promise; you have received it of her own free will, and the Forests are wont to keep their word to themselves and others. In whatever manner this Fernow may cross her path, I know her, she will be yours notwithstanding."

"She will!" replied Alison morosely. "You may rely upon that, Mr. Atkins! Either with or against her consent; my determination is irrevocable, even though–" and here the former ill-omened expression reappeared upon his face–"even though a pair of blue eyes should have to close forever!"

Atkins recoiled in horror; he made no reply. Darkness had fallen; from the village, in tones long drawn out, came the evening signal; Henry started up and took his hat from the table. With a hasty step the old man stood at his side, and grasped his arm.

"Where are you going?"

"Out into the open air. To the park."

"Now? It is quite dark."

"But I must go out for all that; the air here oppresses me. Perhaps–" he smiled strangely–"perhaps I shall bring better thoughts in with me. Good-night."

Freeing his arm by a hasty movement, he left the room. Atkins gazed uneasily after him.

"Something terrible may happen. If they should chance to meet just now!–Foolishness!" he cried interrupting himself. "Just as if Henry were such a lunatic as to stake life, honor, and future for a mad jealous whim! If he were to meet this Fernow alone in the mean time, I would answer for nothing; but hero among his comrades, where discovery would be inevitable, and revenge sure–no, he would not venture it!"

He opened his door to listen if any sound came from Jane's chamber which lay opposite. "She shut herself in immediately upon our arrival," he said to himself, "and called out to me that she had already lain down–a pretence! I heard her plainly pacing to and fro; but it is of no use to renew my effort to force a conversation with her; perhaps her intervention would only make matters worse.–I had better see that we leave early to-morrow morning, for no matter where; if things come to the worst we can go back to B. When this Fernow is only out of sight, it will be an easy matter to keep our betrothed couple together, and until then–well in any event they can only sleep one single night under the same roof!"

With this consoling thought, Mr. Atkins closed the door, and returned to his chamber.

CHAPTER XX.

The Fateful Hour

The silence that ruled throughout the castle was in striking contrast to the merry, animated life of the afternoon. A light already burned in the major's chamber, the adjutant and another of the officers were there; the other gentlemen seemed to have withdrawn, for the large ante-room, which opened upon the terrace and usually served as the evening rendezvous, was quite solitary, except that for the moment Frederic was there trying to light a fire in the grate as a protection against the cool, evening air. He undertook this service very unwillingly, and with much grumbling against the castellan who had remained behind, but saw fit to shirk the duties he had been ordered to perform, and as usual, was nowhere to be found.

Frederic had at last succeeded in kindling the dry wood heaped up in the grate; the flames leaped forth merrily, and Frederic had just resigned himself to melancholy reflection over the worthlessness of French servants in general and the shortcoming of French stewards, in particular, when a light hand was laid upon his shoulder, and turning around he saw that Miss Forest stood close behind him.

"Has Lieutenant Fernow yet returned?" she asked.

"Yes," answered Frederic greatly surprised at the question; "ten minutes ago."

"Tell him that I wish to speak with him."

Frederic was still more surprised. "With my master?"

"Yes, I wish to speak with your master. Tell him that I await him here.–Hasten!"

An imperious wave of the hand accompanied the command, for command it was, and Frederic trudged away. Just as he was outside the door, it occurred to him that it was no longer fitting for him, one of the heroes of this glorious Prussian army, to be ordered around in this way by that American Miss; but it was with him as with Mr. Atkins; his will sank powerless before her imperious tone and glance; so, growling and muttering, but obedient, he went to his master's room on the required errand.

Jane had remained back alone in the large gloomy apartment which was only partially lighted by a chandelier suspended from the ceiling. Outside profound darkness already reigned; the moon had not yet risen, the winds sighed through the trees, and through the one open window floated the cold evening air. She shuddered involuntarily, and approaching the grate sank down into an arm-chair, whose richly carved back displayed an French coat of arms.

She was now just on the verge of certainty! All must become clear between them,–the next fifteen minutes would unveil the long buried secret! With what emotions Jane looked forward to his unveiling was known to her alone. The flames as they rose and fell lighted up a face upon which was now mirrored one only expression, firm, unyielding decision. "It must be!" With these words, Forest had taught his daughter to endure every conflict and to bear every sorrow; but in his lifetime she had known little of sorrow or conflict. Now the trial had come; but dumbly, without lamentation, she bowed to the iron law of necessity.

For one moment, that unexpected reunion had overpowered her; but it had been for only a moment, it was not in Jane's nature to recoil from any decisive step; she was no coward, and she would now have a certainty, even though that certainty was to prove her destruction. The features wrought to their fullest energy, the compressed lips, and the determined icy glance, at this moment, gave her a really frightful resemblance to her dead father. There was not a breath of weakness, of submission; all was hard, rigid, icy; these features said–"let come what will, it shall be borne!"

The door opened from the outside, and Fernow entered. He closed the door behind him, but remained standing close to the threshold.

"You wished to see me, Miss Forest!"

"I wished an interview with you, Lieutenant Fernow. Shall we be undisturbed here?"

"I hope so for the next fifteen minutes."

"Ah–I beg you to come nearer."

He approached her slowly, and paused at the fireplace, directly opposite her. Between them crackled and glistened the flames, their lurid reflection sharply lighting up both these forms. They alone were visible in the half-darkened room; visible also to him who was pacing up and down the terrace just outside.

"I was not prepared for this summons, Miss Forest. After our meeting in the village it seemed to me as if you wished to avoid every approach on my side. I followed your command; it is you now who have summoned me."

There lay perhaps some bitterness in these words, but Fernow's bitterness was seldom cutting or harmful. Jane recognized only a gentle, deeply painful reproach nothing more.