Vineta, the Phantom City

The princess was startled; she gazed anxiously at her son, and read his purpose in his face.

"Will you attempt–"

"What you have attempted. You failed–I may succeed."

A gleam of hope lighted that pale, sad face, but it instantly died out; the princess shook her head doubtingly.

"No, no," she cried; "do not undertake a rescue, it will be in vain. When I tell you this, you may rest assured that everything possible has been attempted, but without success. Paul's fidelity cost him his life."

"Paul was an old man," rejoined Waldemar; "he was too moderate and cautious. He had courage enough, but he lacked coolness and daring at the decisive moment. Youth, nerve, and above all prompt action, are needed for such a mission."

"And with all these it is full of danger. We have learned how the boundaries are watched and the prisoners guarded. Waldemar, must I lose you also?" cried the princess, in a tone of anguish and alarm.

Waldemar gazed at his mother in astonishment; his face flushed, and then grew pale, as he heard her words.

"I make the stake for your brother's freedom," he said.

"Bronislaw cannot be rescued," was the despondent answer. "Do not risk your life for our lost cause. It has already cost us sacrifice enough. Think of Leo's fall, and of Paul's fate. I will not let you go," she cried, seizing his hand and holding it fast. "I was wrong in saying a moment ago that I had nothing more to lose. I now feel that one child is still left me; I will not give up my last, my only one. Do not go, my son; it is your mother who entreats you."

This was a mother's voice and tone, this was a language of the heart such as these lips had never before addressed to Waldemar. The hour had come when this proud, resolute woman saw everything falling in ruins around her, and found herself clinging in despair to the only object fate had left her. The neglected son at last entered into his birthright, but it was not until the grave had closed over his brother.

Any other mother and son would have fallen into each other's arms, and in one outburst of affection sought to forget the long and bitter estrangement. These natures were too stern and reticent. Waldemar did not utter a word, but, for the first time in his life, he pressed his mother's hand to his lips.

"Will you remain?" asked the mother, entreatingly.

"No," he replied, firmly but gently; "I shall go, but I thank you for the words you have spoken. They make the risk far easier for me. You have always regarded me as your enemy because I have not entered into your party plans; I could not do so, I cannot now; but nothing forbids my releasing the count from an inhuman sentence. I will at least make the attempt, and I shall succeed if success is possible. You know the motive that urges me on."

The mother abandoned her opposition. This assurance awakened hope within her own breast.

"And Wanda?" she asked.

"Wanda said to me to-day, 'If my father were at liberty, I should have the courage to defy everything for your sake.' Tell her that I hope to remind her of those words some day. Do not question me further, mother. You know that I must act alone, for I only among you all am free from suspicion. You will not hear from me during my absence, for you are under close surveillance, and a message from you would endanger my undertaking. Leave all to me. I must hasten–there is no time to lose. And now, good-bye."

He kissed his mother's hand, and hastened away. She was deeply wounded at her son's hurried farewell; she went to the window, eager for one more parting recognition, but she received none. Waldemar's eyes sought another window. As he rode out of the court his glance was fixed upon Wanda's corner room, as if in that glance lay some magic power to compel from her a farewell greeting. For her sake he was about to enter upon an undertaking beset with dangers, and where Wanda was concerned, his mother and all the world were forgotten.

He saw her once more. She appeared at the window, and Waldemar's face lighted up as if illumined by a sudden burst of sunshine. For a moment their eyes met in a glance more eloquent than words. The young man bowed low, and giving Norman the rein, he dashed away like the wind.

The mother stood gazing after her son. He had not turned to give her one farewell look; she was forgotten. At this thought her soul was for the first time pierced by the same arrow Waldemar had often felt at sight of her partiality for Leo. At this moment the conviction she was still reluctant to admit forced itself upon her: that her eldest son inherited what the youngest had never possessed,–her own indomitable will and energy. She now acknowledged that, in mind and character, Waldemar was blood of her blood.

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE GOVERNMENT COUNSELLOR

Upon the forenoon of a cool but bright and sunny day in May, Superintendent Frank was returning from L–, the nearest railway station, where he had gone to meet his son and daughter, Professor and Madame Fabian. The new academic and marital dignities well became the professor. The old, depressed look was gone, his face was no longer "sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought;" he seemed in cheerful, almost buoyant spirits. The young wife, always intent upon maintaining her husband's position, wore a grave, important, almost solemn aspect, which was in striking contrast to her fresh, youthful appearance. Happily, she often forgot the part she had so carefully studied, and became the merry, saucy Gretchen Frank of the old girlhood days. At this moment, however, the professor's wife was in the ascendant as she sat very erect in the carriage at her father's side, and told him of the new life at the university city.

"Yes, papa, this visit home will be such a rest and recreation for us," she said, passing her pocket-handkerchief over the blooming face, which certainly indicated no need either of rest or amusement; "the university makes so many and such constant demands upon our time, and our social position involves such a round of visits and receptions and so many other cares. We German scholars, to-day, stand in the van of intellectual progress; we are the profound thinkers of the world."

"You really seem to stand very much in the van," replied the superintendent, who had listened to Gretchen's remarks in mingled surprise and amusement. "Tell me, child, who occupies the chair of Ancient History at the University of J–; you or your husband?"

"The husband and the wife are one," said Gretchen, sagely; "if it had not been for me, Emil would not have accepted the professorship, as great a scholar as he is. Only day before yesterday, Professor Weber remarked to him in my presence, 'Professor Fabian, you are a treasure for our university, but you are out of your element in practical life; you are fortunate in having a wife who so energetically represents you there.' And he was right,–wasn't he, Emil? Practically and socially, you would be lost without me,–wouldn't you?"

"Wholly and entirely so!" returned the professor, emphatically, and with a look of grateful affection at his wife.

"Do you hear, papa? he acknowledges it," said Gretchen, triumphantly. "Emil is one of the few men who fully appreciates his wife. Hubert never would have done so,–but, appropos of the assessor, how is he nowadays? Has he become government counsellor?"

"No: and I fear he never will. He has at last become indignant at the lack of appreciation paid to his great abilities, and has tendered his resignation. Next month he leaves the public service."

"What a loss for the prime ministry!" exclaimed Gretchen, laughing; "he was sure of one day attaining that position, and rehearsed his ministerial part constantly while he sat in our parlor. Is he still haunted with the idea of unearthing conspiracies and traitors everywhere?"

"I do not know," replied Herr Frank. "I have scarcely seen him since your marriage. He has not entered my house since he rushed from it so incontinently on that evening which proved fatal to his matrimonial hopes. I cannot blame him, Gretchen, but I do blame you; you ought to have told him the news more considerately. But the assessor needs no pity; he is now quite a wealthy man, being the chief heir of Professor Schwarz, who died a few months ago."

"Probably of a bilious fever," added Gretchen.

"Gretchen!" said the professor, imploringly and reproachfully.

"Heaven knows he had a bilious temperament!" continued Gretchen. "He was as irritable as you are patient. Only think of it, papa! Just after his call to J–, Emil wrote the professor a courteous, modest letter, in which he really apologized for being his successor, and solemnly declared his innocence of all participation in the university quarrel. The letter was never answered, and now that this unamiable celebrity has left the world, my husband feels called upon to dedicate to him a posthumous eulogy, deploring the loss to science as if this professor had been his best friend."

"I did so in good faith, and from sincere conviction," replied Fabian, in his gentle, earnest way. "The professor's morbid character often robbed him of the appreciation which was justly his due. I felt it my duty to remind the world of the loss science has suffered in his death. He was a man of great learning and ability."

Gretchen's lips curled in scorn. "I don't care what he was!" she said. "Let us change the subject. Herr Nordeck is not in Villica."

"No," said Herr Frank, curtly; "he is away."

"Yes; he wrote to my husband that he thought of going to Altenhof, and might remain there for some weeks. It is strange that he should leave Villica just now, when so many things there demand his attention."

"Altenhof is his old home," said the professor. "It has been left him by will, and nothing can persuade him to sell the estate. It is only natural that he should wish to revisit the scenes of his youth."

Gretchen looked incredulous. "Waldemar Nordeck is not a man to cling to sentimental remembrances," she said. "This visit is merely a pretext: perhaps he is seeking by change of scene to divert his mind from its passion for the Countess Wanda. Polish women are insane in their national fanaticism; this young girl will not give her hand to the man she loves because he is a German! I would have married my Emil if he had been a Hottentot. And now my dear husband is fretting continually over the supposed unhappiness of his beloved Waldemar, seriously imagining that this man has a heart like other men. Nothing can make me believe such an absurdity!"

"Gretchen!" said the professor a second time, and with an effort at severity which was an entire failure.

"I'm sure I don't believe it; why should I?" reiterated the young wife. "If a man has a secret sorrow he will manifest it in some manner. Herr Nordeck rules Villica in a high-handed sort of way that betrays but very little sensibility, and when he was groomsman at our wedding he did not manifest the slightest feeling."

"He is a man so reticent by nature that if he were dying of an unhappy passion he would make no sign," said Fabian.

"A man whose unhappy love is never evident has no deep feeling," persisted Gretchen. "Your woe-begone look was visible a dozen paces off. Those few weeks before our betrothal, when you really thought I was going to marry the assessor, you went about with such a rueful face! I pitied you from the bottom of my heart, but you was so timid I thought you never would muster up courage to make a declaration."

Herr Frank had taken no part in this conversation; the road which for a short distance led along by the river-bank, began to be very bad, and required careful driving. The damage done by the late high water had not yet been repaired, and passage was difficult, although the superintendent declared that it was not dangerous. Gretchen would not trust his assurance; she insisted upon leaving the carriage and going over the bridge on foot. Both gentlemen followed her example, and all three took the upper footpath while the carriage slowly passed over the bridge below.

They were not the only timid ones; another carriage had reached the opposite end of the bridge, and its inmate had also alighted. After advancing a few steps they found themselves suddenly face to face with the assessor.

The unexpected meeting was fraught with painful embarrassment to both parties, as their last interview had been upon that evening when the assessor had left Gretchen's presence in a rage at the sudden announcement of her betrothal to Doctor Fabian. All felt, however, that their friendship was of too long duration to allow them to pass each other as mere strangers. Herr Frank stepped up to the assessor as if nothing had happened, and offered his hand in the old cordial way, expressing great pleasure at seeing him again.

The assessor had assumed his most dignified attitude. He was dressed in black from head to foot. He wore a crape band around his hat and another around his left arm; he was paying due respect to the memory of his illustrious uncle, but the inheritance must have distilled some balsam into the heart of the sorrowing nephew, for he looked like anything rather than an image of despair. His face to-day wore a peculiar expression: an exalted self-satisfaction, a conscious greatness; he was evidently in the mood to forgive all the world and to make peace with all mankind. After a moment's hesitation he grasped the superintendent's proffered hand, and returned his friendly greeting.

The professor and Gretchen now advanced. Hubert threw a reproachful glance upon the young wife, who, in her travelling hat with its floating veil, certainly looked charming enough to awaken a regretful feeling in the heart of her former adorer. He bowed distantly to her and then turned to the professor.

"Professor Fabian," he said, solemnly, "you, too, sympathize with the great bereavement which our family, and with it all science, has suffered. The letter you some time ago wrote to my uncle convinced him that you had no part in the intrigues which had been set on foot against him; that you at least could recognize his great services without envy. He himself expressed this conviction to me; he did you full justice. Your beautiful eulogy of your predecessor does you great honor, and is a most gratifying source of consolation to his surviving relatives. I thank you in the name of the family."