Vineta, the Phantom City

"They are the words of a deeply offended mother whose son has driven her to the last extremity; in the present posture of affairs, there can be no peace between Waldemar and me. Wherever I set my foot, I find him in my way; whatever I attempt, he confronts and opposes me. How many of our plans he has already thwarted! How much we have been forced to sacrifice just for his sake! He has carried his opposition so far that we stand in the relation of mortal enemies. Yes, he stands alone–let him endure alone what the enmity he has provoked brings upon him."

Her voice had an icy tone; it bore no longer a trace of the maternal feeling, of that tenderness which had thrilled it a moment before; it expressed the real feeling of the Princess Zulieski, who never forgave nor forgot an injury, and against whom no greater offence was ever committed than to deprive her of authority. This was Waldemar's offence, and his mother could not forgive it.

She was about leaving the room to make preparations for departure, when her glance fell upon Wanda, who stood gazing at her, motionless and speechless, but with such a look of determination in her face that the princess paused, and said,–

"I would like to impress one thing upon you before I go: If I do not warn Waldemar, no one else should dare warn him; it would be treason to our cause. Why do you shudder at that word? What would you call it if any one of our party revealed our secrets by a spoken or a written word to the master of Villica? It would thwart our plans and cost us the loss of the forester's place. Wanda, the Morynskis have never had cause to regret taking the women of their house into their confidence–a traitoress has never been found among them."

"Aunt Maryna!" cried Wanda in such a tone of horror that the princess withdrew the hand she had laid heavily on her niece's arm.

"I only wished you to know what is at stake here," she said. "You do not want to be ashamed to look your father in the face when he returns; as to the manner in which you will settle with Leo for the mortal terror concerning his brother which now tortures you, that is your affair, not mine. If I had known that this blow threatened Leo, I should have opposed his fatal love for you instead of fostering it. Now it is too late for him and for you. This present hour has proved to me–"

The sentence was cut short by Paul's announcement that the carriage was at the door. At parting, Wanda silently placed her ice-cold hand in her aunt's, and the latter seemed content with the unspoken promise.

Wanda fled to her own room: she was finally alone with herself, alone with her apprehension of danger to Waldemar, of which his mother had no fear. Love alone could foreshadow such peril, and the princess did not love her eldest son. If she had known that Waldemar's life was in danger, she would not have uttered a word to save him, for this word might have jeopardized the interests of her party.

Wanda seated herself at her writing-desk. A brief warning, a few written lines, sent to Villica, might save Waldemar; he need not know whence they came. If he went to the forester's place, he would go accompanied by others, and no one would venture to attack him. He would, thus sustained, easily enforce obedience; he could have the forester arrested, and the forest-house guarded by soldiers. Then Waldemar would have peace.

But what would be the result to her own party? This forester's place was now used for the same purpose which Villica Castle had so long served; a portion of the weapons which had been removed from Villica were concealed there, it was the focus of the insurrection, the point whence all messengers went and to which they came. It was of the utmost importance that the present forester should remain, as firm reliance could be placed upon his loyalty and his silence. His removal would be the loss of this central point of operations; he knew that fact as well as his mistress, and he resolved to remain at all hazards.

Nordeck himself came but seldom to this remote house in the forest; his idea in going there now was to enforce obedience by his personal authority. He had often been called to such duties of late, and he probably did not regard the present affair as one of any great importance. If his authority should meet with opposition at the forester's place, if he should discover that a systematic resistance had been organized against him, he would act with his wonted energy, and deprive his mother of her last foothold. Discovery could no longer be prevented if he were told that danger threatened him from that quarter.

All this was terribly clear to Wanda's mind, and Waldemar's danger was just as clearly revealed to her. She was firmly convinced that the ball which had recently imperilled his life had come from the forester's rifle; that the man whose bitter hatred had culminated in an attempt at assassination, would not hesitate to slay his master should opportunity offer. Knowing this, must she allow Waldemar to rush unwarned perhaps into the very jaws of death? But before that terrible word Treason her resolution faltered; hitherto she had been her father's confidant, he relied implicitly upon his daughter, and would have scorned the thought that she could divulge a word of the secrets he had committed to her, in order to rescue an enemy. She herself had treated Leo with contempt when in a fit of jealousy he had hesitated to do his duty. The same duty that had forced him from her side to deadly conflict, now bade her do the most difficult of all things: remain silent and inactive, a witness of an impending danger she could avert with a single stroke of the pen–a single word from her lips.

All these thoughts surged in wild commotion through Wanda's breast, and almost overwhelmed her. In vain she sought to silence the voice of her heart, and let reason alone decide this conflict between love and duty; in vain she looked about her for some means of rescue compatible with her own loyalty and honor,–that inevitable and terrible "either--or" still confronted her. If she had not already understood her own heart, this hour would have revealed it to her. For months she had known that Leo was exposed to danger, and she had been anxious for him as for a dear relative, with a brave composure and a silent heroism. Now Waldemar was in peril, and her composure and heroism were at an end; they vanished before the mortal agony that convulsed her whole being at thought of the danger of the man she loved.

There is a point where even the most violent and anguished suffering yields to stupefaction, at least for a time, because the capacity to suffer is completely exhausted. For more than an hour Wanda had been alone in her chamber, torn by conflicting emotions; her face bore traces of the agony she had endured; she had reached that place where she could no longer dispute or question, where she could not even think. She sank helplessly upon a chair, leaned back her head, and closed her eyes.

The old dream-picture reappeared–that vision once conjured up by the sun's golden beams and the ocean vapors, and which had thrown its magic spell around two youthful hearts as yet ignorant of its deep significance. Since that autumnal evening at the forest-lake it had often appeared before their eyes, and all their strength of will had not availed to exorcise its haunting presence. It had accompanied them on that lonely drive through the wintry forest, it had hovered around them as they sped over those broad fields of snow, it had taken shape and hue from the mists rising in the zenith, it had floated on the lowering clouds away at the horizon's verge; no desolate waste, no icy atmosphere hindered its appearance. And now it suddenly rose again in its olden beauty and splendor, as if evoked by supernatural powers.

Wanda had not invoked this vision. She had placed distance and estrangement between herself and the man she wished to hate because he was not the friend of her people; she had sought a way of escape from an infatuation which she was resolved to conquer, in the fierce strife that had broken out between two hostile nations. This desperate conflict with herself had been unavailing, it had ended only in defeat. She was under the influence of no dream, no self-delusion; she knew the nature of the spell that had first been thrown around her at the beech-holm, that had been renewed at the forest-lake, that had deepened and strengthened day by day.

In one thing surely the old tradition had spoken truth: the remembrance would not vanish, the longing would not be stilled. In the midst of strife and hatred a fairy vision rose before her, beautiful as Vineta emerging from its ocean-depths,–the vision of a love truer and deeper than any other earth could offer, of a happiness that might have been hers if kindlier fates had smiled upon her life, and in fancy she heard a chiming as of bridal bells from the old city towers sunken beneath the wave.

Wanda rose slowly. The conflict between love and duty which had raged so long in her breast was over; the last ten minutes had decided it. The pen upon her writing-desk remained untouched, the words of warning were not written. She leaned for support against the desk; her hand trembled, but her face bore the serenity of an unalterable purpose.

"I will go to the forester's," she said, "and if the worst happens, I will interpose. His mother coldly and indifferently allows him to rush into the midst of danger. I will rescue him!"

CHAPTER XXI.

THE RESCUE

The border-forester's place was situated in the midst of dense forests, and close to the boundary. The once large and stately house, which had been erected here by the elder Nordeck, showed signs of dilapidation and decay, as it had not been repaired for twenty years. The present occupant owed his position to the Princess Zulieski. He had been here three years, his bad management being entirely overlooked by his mistress, because she knew that he was devoted body and soul to her interests, and could be relied upon in any emergency. Waldemar seldom visited this distant portion of his estate, and had only a very slight acquaintance with the forester. He had, however, of late felt obliged to interfere, on account of the conflicts between this man and the soldiers who guarded the German frontier.

Winter still held undisputed sway. Forest and forest-house lay wrapped in snow, and the dim light of a gray, cloudy sky fell around the chill, desolate landscape. The forester and his men, numbering three or four assistants and as many servants, were gathered in a large room upon the ground-floor. They were all armed, and were awaiting the landlord's arrival. Waldemar had ordered the forester, Osiecki, and his men to depart quietly from the place, but appearances did not indicate an intention to obey. The lowering faces of the subordinates boded nothing good, and the forester's aspect was that of a man capable of any act of desperation. These men, who had passed their lives in the solitude of the forest, were little disposed to law and order, and their leader was known as one who placed but slight restraint upon his lawless, passionate nature.

They all maintained a respectful attitude at this moment, for the young Countess Morynski stood before them. She had thrown back her cloak, and her pale, beautiful face bore no traces of the agonized conflict through which she had just passed. Its ruling expression was a stern, cold gravity.

"You have led us into an unfortunate position, Osiecki," she said. "Instead of seeking to avert suspicion from this quarter, you provoke collision with the patrols, and you imperil us all by your indiscretion. My aunt is displeased with you, and I come to forbid your again committing any act of violence against any person whomsoever."

The reproof did not fail of its effect. The forester cast down his eyes, and his voice had an apologetic tone, as, with mingled defiance and penitence, he answered,–

"What is done cannot be helped; I could restrain neither my men nor myself. You do not know what it is to remain inactive here upon the frontier, while every day there is fighting over yonder,–to be obliged to endure the presence of these domineering soldiers, and not dare to act, even when we have loaded muskets in our hands. I do not think our patience will hold out much longer; we lost it entirely day before yesterday. If I did not know that we were needed here, I should long ago have been with the army. Prince Zulieski is stationed only a few miles from here–we can easily find our way to him."

"You must remain," said Wanda, resolutely. "You know my father's orders. This forester's place must be retained at all hazards, and you can do more for us here than you could in battle. Prince Leo has men enough under his command. But now to the main point: Herr Nordeck is coming here to-day."

"Yes," replied the forester, jeeringly; "he says that he will enforce obedience. He orders us to Villica Castle, where he can watch us constantly, and lay his finger upon us at any moment. Nordeck can command, but the question is, Shall we obey? If he intends driving us away from here, he will have to call a whole regiment of soldiers to his aid; otherwise, things may end worse than he imagines."

"What do you mean?" asked the young countess; "do you forget that Waldemar Nordeck is the son of your mistress?"

"Prince Leo Zulieski is her son and our master," broke out the forester. "It is a shame for the princess and all of us to be ruled by this German, just because his father twenty odd years ago intruded here, and compelled the young Countess Morynski to marry him. The marriage brought her misery enough, but the son is even worse than his father. We know the life they lead together; she really would not mourn his loss any more than she did the loss of his father, and his death would be the best thing that could happen. Then there would be no need of issuing secret commands from the castle; the princess would rule, and our young prince would be the heir and the future master of Villica, as he ought to be."

Wanda turned pale. The unhappy strife between this mother and son had gone so far that the tenants on the estate were deliberately estimating the advantages Waldemar's death would bring to his nearest relatives–that they even counted upon the forgiveness of the princess for his assassination! Wanda's worst fears were confirmed, but she knew that she dared not betray her anxiety by word or manner. She was respected here as the daughter of Count Morynski, as the niece of the princess, and she was supposed to speak in the name of the latter. If her purpose in coming should be discovered, her authority and her ability to protect Waldemar would end.

"Do not venture to attack your master," she said, with a commanding air, and as calmly as if she were delivering a message intrusted to her. "Whatever happens, the princess will spare her son at any cost. The man who attacks him need hope no mercy. Your disobedience, Osiecki, has already exasperated your mistress; do not attempt rebellion a second time."

The forester set down his gun reluctantly, and the other men followed his example. Wanda, acting as the representative of their mistress, could have gained her object if more time had been granted her; but Waldemar's sleigh now drew up before the door, and all eyes were turned to the window.

Wanda started. "Is the landlord already here?" she said. "Osiecki, open the side-door for me, and do not betray my presence by a word. I shall go as soon as he leaves."

Wanda entered a small, dimly lighted room, and closed the door behind her. Two minutes after, Waldemar appeared in the house. He paused upon the threshold, and with one sweeping glance scanned the circle of foresters, who, still grasping their weapons, gathered around their leader. This was not a very encouraging spectacle for the young landlord, who had come entirely alone to enforce obedience from his rebellious subordinates, but his voice and manner betrayed no alarm as he turned to the forester, and said,–

"I did not notify you of my coming, and yet you seem prepared for it."

"Yes, we are awaiting you," was the laconic answer.

"Armed? And in this attitude? Why are weapons in your hands? Set them down!"

Osiecki set down his musket, but not beyond his reach; the others did the same. Waldemar advanced to the middle of the room.

"I come to seek explanation of an error that occurred yesterday," he said. "My order could not have been misunderstood, for it was sent to you in writing. The messenger, however, might have misapprehended your answer."

The forester hesitated; he had not the audacity to repeat to his master's face what he had said to the messenger the day before.

"I am frontier forester," he answered, "and I intend to remain so as long as I am in your service, Herr Nordeck. I am responsible for my district, and must have the management of it."

"You have shown yourself incapable of management; you cannot or will not hold your men in check. I have warned you repeatedly; yesterday was the third time, and it is also the last."

"At a time like the present, I cannot prevent my men from coming in conflict with the patrols," said the forester, defiantly. "My authority does not extend so far."

"For this very reason you should go to Villica, and leave the control here to me."

"And my district?"

"Will remain under charge of Overseer Fellner until the arrival of the new forester. You will leave this place to-morrow, and if you do not report at Villica with all your men, you will be dismissed."

A threatening murmur was heard. The men pressed close together, and the overseer confronted his landlord. "That is not so easily done," he said; "I am no common laborer, to be hired to-day and discharged to-morrow. You can give me notice to leave if you wish, but I and the men I have engaged have a right to remain until autumn. I do not wish to take any other district, and I will not; whoever attempts to drive me away will repent it."

"The forest is my property," returned Waldemar, "and the foresters must submit to my authority. Appeal to no right you yourself have forfeited! If justice were done you, you would receive a severer punishment than mere transferral. You will either comply with my orders, or I shall to-day tender this place to the government as a post of observation, and to-morrow troops will occupy the house."