Fickle Fortune

'Edmund, what is your cause of complaint against me?'

'Against you? I have none. You must excuse me if I seem rather absent. I am beset by all sorts of worries just now–disagreeables regarding the management, with the people on the place. My head is full of it all. You see by this incident with the steward what unpleasant things are constantly turning up.'

'It is not that,' said Oswald decidedly. 'I feel that you have some grudge against me personally. See how hearty and affectionate you were towards me when we parted, and how differently you receive me now. What has come between us?'

He grasped the young Count's shoulder as he put the last question, and would have looked him scrutinizingly in the face, but Edmund tore himself free with some violence.

'Do not tease me with all these absurd fancies and imaginings,' he broke out hastily. 'Must I render you account of every word and every glance?'

Oswald receded a step, and gazed at his cousin in amazement. He was indeed more astonished than offended. This sudden outbreak, so entirely unprovoked, as it seemed to him, was absolutely inexplicable. At this moment the roll of approaching wheels and the barking of dogs were heard outside. Edmund drew a deep breath, as though he had been relieved of some unendurable pain.

'Ah, our guests are here! Forgive me, Oswald, if I leave you alone. I am expecting some gentlemen who are to join our shooting-party to-morrow. You will make one of us, will you not?'

'No,' said Oswald coldly. 'I did not come for my pleasure, and to-morrow afternoon I must leave you again.'

'So soon? I am sorry for that, but of course you know best how much time you have to spare. I will give orders for your room to be put in readiness for you.'

He had already reached the threshold.

'One thing more, Oswald. Take the steward to task for me, will you? I have no talent for that sort of thing, and no patience. I shall agree to anything you may decide. Your orders will be equivalent to mine. Goodbye for the present.'

The last words were spoken rapidly, with a feverish excitement of manner which contrasted strangely with his former listless indifference. Then he hurried away, as though the ground were scorching his feet. Oswald stood there alone, hardly knowing whether to be angry or alarmed at such a reception. What could it mean? There could be but one explanation. Edmund had entered the drawing-room as Hedwig quitted it. Possibly he might have approached some minutes before and have partly overheard the short but pregnant conversation that had taken place between the girl and himself. Although not a word had fallen which could be construed into an understanding, there had been enough to show how matters were between Oswald and his own promised bride–enough to kindle a blaze of jealousy in the young Count's breast. That would explain his shrinking from the hand Oswald extended to him, his indifference to the money-loss with which he was threatened, his vehement, excited manner. There could be no other reading of the problem.

'So it was that,' said Oswald to himself. 'He must have overheard something. Well then, he heard how innocent we both were with regard to the meeting, and how we parted. I know myself to be free from blame, and if we ever come to a discussion on the subject, I will meet him and speak out frankly.'

Outside, in the courtyard, loud talk could now be heard, and a lively interchange of greetings, Edmund's voice rising above all the others as he welcomed his guests with noisy hilarity.

Oswald glanced out of the window. The gentlemen who had just alighted were, one and all, old acquaintances of his, but he was not in the humour to make polite speeches to them, or to run the gauntlet of their questions. So he quickly left the drawing-room, and was on the way to his old dwelling in the side-wing before the strangers had set foot in the castle.

CHAPTER XIII

The weather on the following day proved more propitious than had been expected. Though it did not clear up brightly, there was a cessation of the snowfall and the mists had disappeared, so that the morning seemed to promise a somewhat overcast, but, on the whole, fine day, favourable to sport and sportsmen.

At a very early hour Oswald left his room and turned his steps towards the main building, where the Count's apartments were situated. None of the guests were visible as yet, but downstairs the servants were busy preparing for the departure of the gentlemen, who were to set out immediately after breakfast.

Strange to say, Oswald found his cousin's room locked. It had never been Edmund's habit to ensure solitude by any such precautions. Not until his cousin had knocked repeatedly did he open the door.

'Oh, it is you, Oswald? You are here very early.'

His tone said plainly enough that the surprise was no pleasant one. Notwithstanding this, Oswald walked in.

'You are dressed, I see,' he said; 'so I am not disturbing you with this morning visit.'

The young Count was, indeed, fully equipped for the day, but he looked pale and haggard, and his eyes shone with an unnatural light. The traces of a wakeful night were but too visible on his features. He had evidently found neither sleep nor rest since the preceding evening.

'You have altered your mind, I suppose, and have come to say you will make one of the party,' he said lightly, evading the keen survey of the other's eyes by turning away and busying himself at his writing-table.

'No,' replied Oswald. 'You know that I must start again this afternoon. You may not have returned when I leave, so I wished to say good-bye to you now.'

'Must it be said in private?'

'Yes; for there is something else of importance I would speak of. You used not of old to avoid me so persistently, Edmund. I tried in vain to get hold of you yesterday evening. You were so completely taken up with your guests, and you seemed so excited, I had to give up all hope of finding a hearing, or of discussing with you any matters of business.'

'Matters of business? Ah, you mean that affair of the steward. Have you been so good as to speak to him for me?'

'I was compelled to do so, seeing that, in spite of my remonstrances, you would not stir a step. It all turned out precisely as I feared. When the man discovered that I was acquainted with the whole transaction, he desisted from lying. I gave him the choice of leaving Ettersberg this very day, or of submitting to a thorough investigation before a court of law. He naturally preferred the first alternative. Here is the document which empowered him to act in your name. He handed it over to me, but you will do well to have it properly cancelled. The intending purchaser has had notice already. I took down his address, thinking it might prove useful, and I have telegraphed to him that the sale of timber will not take place, that all authority is withdrawn from your agent, who had treated without your knowledge or consent. So this time the loss has been averted.'

He made this statement in a quiet, business-like tone, laying no stress on his own services, or on the diligent zeal which had brought about this happy result.

Edmund must, however, have felt how much he owed to his cousin's wise and thoughtful action. Perhaps the sense of obligation weighed upon him, for his answer was very brief.

'I am really most grateful to you. I knew you would understand these things far better than I, and would act more energetically.'

'In this instance it was for you to act,' said Oswald reproachfully. 'I allowed the steward to believe that at present I alone had cognizance of the intended fraud, that I called him to account on my own responsibility, and that I should not make any communication to you until he had taken his departure to-day–otherwise he would have thought it extraordinary that you should hold aloof from an affair which, after all, concerns yourself alone.'

'As I said to you yesterday, I was not in a mood, a frame of mind–'

'That I could see, and I make every allowance for the frame of mind, knowing, as I do, its cause and origin.'

'Its cause and origin? What do you mean? What do you know?'

'The reason of your strange reception, of your almost hostile attitude towards myself. This alone it is which brings me here. All misunderstandings must be cleared up between us, Edmund. Why this silence and concealment? Between true friends such as we are, frankness is best.'

The young Count leaned heavily against the table near at hand. He made no reply, but stood speechless and pale as death, staring at his cousin, who continued calmly:

'You need not withhold any accusation you may have to make. I can face it, can meet it without flinching. I love Hedwig, and am not ashamed to own it to you, for I have honestly, loyally struggled against the passion. When I saw it was not to be overcome, I went. Not a word on the subject has passed between us. If yesterday I was so far carried away as to allude to the state of my feelings, it was the first, it will be the last time. The unexpected meeting for a moment robbed me of my self-control, but it was only for a moment. I was myself again directly. If this is guilt in your eyes, it is guilt I am not afraid to confess, for I feel that in all points I can justify my conduct.'

This open, manly avowal had a most unlooked-for effect. Edmund listened as in a dream. The horrible shock of surprise, which quite paralyzed him at first, gradually passed away, but he evidently did not yet grasp the full purport of the words addressed to him.

'You love Hedwig? You? No, it is impossible. I do not believe it.'

'Had you not found it out?' said Oswald, dismayed in his turn. 'Was it not a feeling of jealousy which stood between us and estranged you from me?'

Edmund did not heed the question. His glowing eyes rested with an expression of terrible, unutterable suspense on Oswald's face, as he panted forth, in breathless agitation:

'And Hedwig–does she return the feeling? Does she love you?'

'I have said that no word of explanation has passed between us.'

'Words are not needed. You know, must know, if she cares for you, or not. That is felt in every glance, in every pulse. I have felt, I have known that she did not give me her whole wealth of love, that something stood between us, dividing us. Were you that barrier? Speak; I will have certainty, be the cost to me what it may.'

Oswald cast down his eyes.

'Hedwig will hold her promise sacred, as I do,' he replied, in a low voice.

The answer was unequivocal, and to it there was no rejoinder. For the next few minutes a terrible silence reigned. No sound was heard but that of the young Count's short, quick breathing.

'So this drop is added,' he said at length. Oswald looked at him anxiously. He had been prepared for a stormy scene, for passionate reproach and fierce anger. This stony resignation, so utterly at variance with Edmund's character, roused in him amazement and alarm.