CHAPTER VIII.
The Heiress at Bay
There was such energy in his manner, such determination in his just demand, that evasion seemed impossible, and any other young lady would scarce have attempted it; but Alison forgot that Jane–was quite a match for him, that her energy was quite equal to his, and that this tone was least of all designed to incline her to obedience. This "I demand," sounded very strange and harsh in the ears of the proud girl. It called forth all her obstinacy.
"You forget, Mr. Alison, that the time has not yet come for you to 'demand,'" she said coldly. "I have imposed upon you a condition which you promised to fulfil; the reason therefor, now as then, rests solely in my judgment. I do not release you from your promise. I will not!"
The young lady's entire strength of determination lay in this "I will not?" and it sounded just as defiant and provoking as those other words from her lips a few days before. Perhaps she wished to drive this man also to extremities; but here the effect was different.
Alison was for an instant silent. Had Jane been merely beautiful and not rich, the wounded self-esteem of this man would have perhaps called forth an answer, which, from the bluntness of both characters, must have led to an irreparable breach. But the young merchant knew how to count the cost; he would not give up this valuable possession for a woman's whim, and he well knew that here he could assert no authority. He yielded; but there was a portentous cloud on his forehead.
"You are as immovable and hard as a stone, Jane! Well, let it be as you wish, but"–his voice trembled in suppressed resentment–"but do not forget that I, too, have received a promise, and that at the appointed time, I will demand its fulfilment, inexorably as you have demanded mine."
Jane had become ashy pale, but her eyes met his firmly and undoubtedly. "My word is as good as my oath; I would break one as soon as the other," she said.
"And you repeat this oath to me now of your own free will?" His eyes were fixed searchingly upon her face. She seemed to hesitate for one moment, only one; then she laid her hand hastily in his. "I repeat it–of my own free will!"
Alison drew a deep breath, and pressed the hand ardently. "I thank you, Jane," he said. "In the spring I shall come back to demand my wife; until then, you are free as you have wished to be." A pause, oppressive for both, followed; Jane was the first to speak.
"I think we ought not to prolong this interview. It must be time to return to my aunt and Atkins."
Alison made no reply; he silently opened the door, and followed her into the next room, where Doctor Stephen had meantime appeared. The doctor's jovial vivacity which quite equalled Atkins' sarcasm, led the conversation into more agreeable channels.
"Well, how do you find Miss Jane?" asked Atkins, as half an hour later he withdrew with his young countryman.
"Greatly changed!" was the short morose answer.
Atkins looked vexed. "Foolishness! It is you who are changed, Henry! You have caught the spleen in England; it is time that merry Paris should be curing it."
Alison made no reply, he hastily reached Atkins his hand, and went.
CHAPTER IX.
On the Scent
Meantime Jane had sought her own room, whither Atkins now followed her. She advanced to meet him, and hastily, as if she would cut short any other topic which might be supposed to more nearly concern her, she asked; "Do you bring me tidings of your journey? I can imagine its success! It is sheer foolishness, like all else that has thus far been done!"
"It is not so this time!"
Jane gazed at him as if she did not trust her ears.
"What do you say?"
"We have a trace."
Jane trembled. "Of my brother?"
"Be calm, be calm, Miss Jane," said Atkins, coolly, as he laid a hand upon her arm. "The matter is in no way decided! A trace which appeared only to vanish immediately, and which leaves us only a weak prop for future investigation; that is at present the only result I can impart to you."
Miss Forest had already regained her self-possession. "Very well! It is the first sign of life and being. What have you discovered? How did you discover it?"
Atkins quietly drew her to the sofa, and sat down by her side.
"Moderate your impatience, Miss Jane. I will be brief and clear as possible; you may learn later the results. You know that as we passed through Hamburg I took all necessary steps, I notified the police, I advertised in the public journals; but as usual in such cases, no answer came. Four weeks after, at your request, I returned to Hamburg to convince myself personally, of the hopelessness of our efforts. The first days of my stay, this seemed to be the only result of my journey; but on the third, a sailor came to see me."
"A sailor?" repeated Jane in astonishment.
"Yes, he had just landed, and had accidentally seen my advertisement. He came to tell me that twenty years before, some neighbors of his parents, poor fishermen who lived in a little village on the coast of the North Sea, coming from Hamburg, where they had been to market, had brought with them a boy they had found there, had kept him and reared him with their own son. The man's statement was so positive that it induced me to pay him the reward offered, and to write at once to the designated place."
Jane had listened with passionate intentness.
"And you have received an answer?"
"Yes, an answer with the minutest details. You will yourself read the letter, it has convinced me that this boy was really our young master Forest. The date, the age, the incidental descriptions, all agree with my advertisement. The failure of our investigations hitherto is easily explained. With the usual indiscretion of such people, instead of notifying the authorities of their discovery of the lost child, these fishermen calmly waited for some person to claim him sooner or later, and meantime, adopted him as their own. To that wretched, sandy fishing-hamlet, shut out from all the world, a newspaper scarce ever penetrates, this accounts for the failure of Doctor Stephen's efforts to find the child."
"Well, what about these people?" interrupted Jane, with eager impatience.
"They are dead! They died a few years after, and as their poor neighbors could and would not be burdened with the care and support of the two boys, the fisherman's son was sent to a relative, an artisan in a small North-German town, and young master Forest was received into the house of a clergyman in one of the adjoining villages; but years ago he gave up his parish and left that region. Here ends the letter, and my investigations for the present."
With a deep sigh, Jane arose. Discouraging as were these last words, it required only the slightest hint of her brother's possible existence, to arouse all her energies to action. In one minute she had reviewed all, had mastered the whole situation with her wonted clear-sightedness and promptness.
"We must above all things ascertain the abode of this clergyman, and in order to do this we must make inquiries in his former parish. If he is not to be found, then we must extend our inquiries to the mechanic who adopted the other boy; perhaps he still keeps up some sort of correspondence with his youthful associate. In any event, we must quickly and decidedly follow the clue we had scarce hoped to find."
"That is my opinion. I only wished to advise with you in regard to the necessary proceedings. But one thing more! I have at your express wish, thus far, kept all this from Mr. Alison; he has no suspicion of the possible existence of a brother-in-law. Is it not time now to confide it to him?"
"No!" said Jane, almost roughly. "Not until we are sure. We could expect from him neither assistance nor gratification in efforts which would possibly deprive him of half the fortune upon which he reckons."
CHAPTER X.
FOR VALUE RECEIVED
The strange tone of her voice was remarked by Atkins. "What has occurred between you and Henry? He, too, was out of humor. Have you had a quarrel?"
"Yes," said Jane with sullen frankness, "I offended him."
"And he?"
"He?" The young girl's lips curled in scorn. "Well, he bore it."
Atkins frowned. "Have a care, Jane!–Alison is not the man to forgive an insult, least of all from you. He may have borne it for the moment, but he will never forget it, and you may have to atone for it at some future day. I know him!"
"And so do I! Have no anxiety, Mr. Atkins, I do not fear this sort of revenge, neither do I care for it!"
"Avoid that tone, Miss Jane, at least in speaking of him. You might drive him to break his troth."
"Hardly! Mr. Alison too well knows my value to him."
Atkins shook his head. He had never before seen his ward thus. "You know as well as I, that Alison loves you in spite of all, and would have loved you without your fortune," he said.
"And would have chosen me?"
He was silent.
"Spare your championship!" said Jane bitterly. "I know to what considerations I shall alone owe the honor of one day being called Mrs. Alison!"
Atkins fixed his keen glance upon her for a moment. "And is this anything new to you?" he asked deliberately. "Did you not know this just as well as now when, five months ago you promised him your hand? and this promise which the heir and future head of the house of Alison and Company then received"–he laid a marked emphasis upon the words–"would it have been given him if he had, for example, held there the modest position of clerk?"
The thrust took effect, for a moment, as if conscious of guilt, Jane lowered her head; the words with which she had announced her betrothal to her father came back to her remembrance. At that time all this had appeared simple and natural; now, indeed, five months had come and gone, five months and–three days!
"You see," continued Atkins cuttingly and relentlessly, "that the dollar also played its role with you, and why not? Mr. Forest educated you into sensible conceptions of life and its realities. Love is a luxury,–which the rich only can allow themselves–and Alison allowed it in his choice. But one must not fall so deeply in love as to forget one's reckoning, which is still the main thing in life."
"In America–yes!" said Jane in a hollow voice.
Atkins shrugged his shoulders. "In Germany there certainly may be extravagantly sentimental heads, that would have no regard at all for a million, and are in a position to unhesitatingly turn their backs to an heiress, if they happen to be not quite pleased with her. Will you reproach Mr. Alison, because he knows better how to estimate such advantages? Those gentlemen in their exalted manly pride may appear very magnanimous, but–they will never become millionaires."
"You are right," said Jane hastily, and in a voice of icy coldness. "To every one his own."
Atkins gazed at her as if he did not really know what the answer meant. She had again become thoroughly Miss Forest in her impenetrable repose, as she now stood before him, and yet, there had been a tone of irony in her words. But it was a useless endeavor to seek to solve the enigma to-day; he gave it up.
Rising at the same time, he took a letter-case from his pocket and reached it to her. "We have arrived at the main thing," he said. "Here you find the letter I have mentioned, and all the other notices; examine them critically. This evening I will consult farther with you; now, I must leave you."
Jane reached him her hand. "I thank you!" she said, "And as for my ill-humor to-day"–the apology seemed difficult to her, but she must have felt its necessity–"think nothing more about it. There are moods we cannot control. I shall see you again."
When Atkins was outside the door, he paused, and once more shook his head. "There are moods, ahem! This is wonderful. Henry has presentiments and she moods!–Things they had better let alone, both of them. But he is right; she is changed; and if I were to begin to surmise, then I should say"–here Mr. Atkins hurled a very ungracious glance over to the watery mirror of the river glittering in the sun, and which was visible between the trees of the garden–"I should say there lies a sort of premonition here in this German atmosphere, and that this accursed Rhine, before we think of it, will be letting loose something of a tempest about our heads!"
CHAPTER XI.
The Dawn of War
The American's words proved true, although in another sense than he had intended. His apprehensions became a political prophecy. There was indeed something in this German atmosphere, and it was upon the Rhine, that the first lightnings gleamed, heralding the approaching storm. France had declared war! The blow came like a thunderbolt from a clear sky, and as in rolling thunders, from its rocky mountains to the sea, all Germany echoed the call to arms in thousand-fold reverberations.
Upon the Rhine, every city, village and hamlet was all aglow; here, the excitement was more fiery, more ardent than elsewhere; for it was the Rhineland for whose sake the momentous game was to be played, and every man, down to the poorest peasant, felt himself called upon to defend his precious inheritance, to avenge his insulted country, and prevent the intended robbery. In one giant, unbroken procession, Germany threw its assembled forces upon the imperiled boundaries; mightier and mightier swelled the advancing tide of armed men, more and more densely grouped the soldier-masses around the threatened palladium of the nation. For this, the enemy was not half prepared. Those green waves already rolled on under secure protection; shoulder to shoulder, stood the now united Germany, keeping guard on the banks of its Rhine, ready to protect the sacred, ancient stream or to hurl it, an annihilating tide, into the enemy's country.
Nowhere did the fires of enthusiasm mount higher than in B. The students hastened to join the ranks or the sanitary corps; the professors closed their lectures, and when age and health permitted, placed themselves at the head of the students; the women exerted all their powers to send aid and comfort to the soldiers soon to be wounded in the field. All were impelled onward as by one mighty impulse; all was feverish activity and excitement; here, in the city, the once strictly-guarded barriers of class and position were broken down; here, as throughout the fatherland, the old hostility between North and South was forgotten; all united in one common sacrifice, one renunciation; all were borne onward by one common tempest of enthusiasm.
CHAPTER XII.
A Rocket in the Camp
In the first days of this excitement, upon a lovely July morning, Jane sat alone in the balcony chamber, whose doors, leading to the garden, were wide open. Outside, the glowing sunshine lay upon grass and shrub, upon the waves of the river gliding past; the roses were in their full splendor; beetles and butterflies flitted merrily past, and the large, old-fashioned room, with its vine-wreathed windows, its high backed chairs and sofas, its monotonously ticking wall-clock, looked as peaceful and comfortable as if no outside alarm of war could disturb the rest and peace of this house.
But no rest and peace lay upon the face of this young girl; bending low over a newspaper, she seemed to be reading something which fettered her whole attention; for in eager intentness, her glance followed the lines, and she neither heard the advancing step nor saw the form which stood close before her upon the balcony.
"Are you so much absorbed, Miss Jane?" said Atkins entering the room. "You seem to have found something very interesting. But what can be the matter with you?"
Jane had hastily risen, and turned her face to him; the newspaper was still in her hand. If she had not been accustomed to such strict self-control, perhaps her features would still more have betrayed the stormy emotion which thrilled her whole being; now only the glowing cheeks, the flaming eyes expressed it; but they said enough to give the lie to her hasty subterfuge.
"It is nothing, nothing at all; only I am suffering from the intolerable heat, from which I have vainly sought refuge here."
Atkins gazed at her distrustfully, and a sudden thought seemed to occur to him; there was only one single topic upon which he had ever seen Jane excited.
"Have you learned anything further of that affair? Have you found a new trace?"
Jane had already mastered her emotion. She calmly laid down the paper. "Nothing of that sort; nothing at all! I was hoping, on the contrary, that you came to bring me new tidings."
He shook his head. "I have received none; I expected none. The authorities at this moment have neither time nor inclination for private researches; these would be difficult to them now, when everything human and otherwise, is so out of place. A journey on our part would be of no avail; aside from the impossibility of travelling now, we do not know where to go. Weeks may pass before we receive an answer to our last letter; we shall be obliged to wait."
"Wait!" echoed Jane, "yes, wait forever! And meantime we lose the clue we have just found. How sad it was that this fisherman and his wife must die!"
"It was a very fortunate thing for you and young Mr. Forest," returned Atkins dryly; "for this alone rescued him from the circle into which untoward fates had thrown him. We certainly do not know upon what footing he entered that clergyman's house; let us hope it was as a foster-son, and that all former neglect was there repaired. In any other case the much desired re-union might be very painful; or, would it be a matter of indifference to you, Miss Jane, to find your nearest blood relation unfitted to move in your own sphere?"
The young lady was silent. She had often thought that she should find her brother poor,–but low or ill-bred,–the idea had never for a moment occurred to her; and it now won scarce a moment's power over her; her whole pride rose against it.
"My brother has the blood of his father in his veins; that tolerates no lowness! If he lives, he has risen above a sphere unworthy of him. I know that!"
"Without having learned either to read or write? Ahem! You forget that education aided your father in all his undertakings. A student who has received his education in a German high school, is fitted for any station in life. A fisherboy–well I hope our excellent clergyman has saved us from that mortification; but this war, which has so suddenly broken out, plays us a sorry game; it brings all our researches to an end."
With a sigh of impatience, Jane resumed her seat, while Atkins stepped to the table and took up the newspaper in which he had found her so absorbed.
"Have you read the 'Appeal to the German Nation' that stands at the head of the first column?" asked he.
"Yes," came hesitatingly, and as it were with inward reluctance, from Jane's lips.
"A strange composition!" said Atkins, half mockingly, and half with a gravity not usual to him. "I do not comprehend how a man can mix such a senseless lot of poetry into the prose of a newspaper article. In any event, the author of this must be some sort of a poet, and certainly none of the worst. A mere journalist surely has not written it: it has altogether too much."
"Inspiration!" added Jane, with that rare uplighting of her dark eyes.
"Yes, but that means it is extravagant! Well, this German inspiration always is! But the article has genius and fire, we must admit that; and in the present excitement of B., which is already at the boiling point, it will be like a spark in a powder-keg. Half the city has already lost its senses over it, every student in the university is frantic; the words are setting fire to everything, like congreve rockets. I only wonder how long this brilliant display of fireworks is going to last."
Jane glanced at him somewhat scornfully. "But all this at least gives you a change," she said not without irony. "You found Germany so dull, past all endurance."
"Yes, I did find it so!" growled Atkins, "but I would rather endure the former dulness than be here among a crazy people, whose only praiseworthy virtues, humility and modesty, are now entirely discarded. Do you suppose that they now respect us foreigners, that they concern themselves at all about us? I am horribly neglected at my hotel; every care and attention is for the German officers. On the streets, at re-unions, in conversation, I am every hour made to feel how utterly superfluous a being I am among these Teutonic gentlemen. Your amiable Herr Frederic thinks it no longer necessary to place the least rein upon his bearish nature, and seems every day to develope a greater appetite for devouring me at breakfast. Even the good Frau Stephen begins to assert herself! Did she not yesterday say something really malicious to you when you would not allow yourself to be pressed into her patriotic committee? Would she have dared this a little while ago? They are rebelling even against you, Jane; you must see it. Heiress! American! Englishman! All these are nothing to them, now that they have become a united people. They need none of us any more; they are Germans."
At the last words, a deep flush mounted to Jane's forehead, but she did not look up.
"I have declared to my aunt, that as soon as there are suffering and danger to relieve, I will be in my place; but that I think these enthusiastic demonstrations, in which the ladies now so much delight, unnecessary and superfluous."
"And so they are!" replied Atkins, excitedly. "Hold your ground there, at least! Do not yield a foot's-breadth. And now just hear that uproar at the doorbell! I would wager, that here is again some newly aroused patriot, who, a week ago, rang the bell modestly, and now, as a matter of course, introduces himself with this deafening clamor!"
The malice of the American had this time been directed against his host. It was Doctor Stephen who now opened the door, and rather excitedly entered.
"Well, and even this shall–Ah, I beg your pardon, I did not know that any one was here. But I had to ring three times before the maid stirred out of her kitchen. When Frederic is not in the house all goes wrong."
"And I, too, missed our distinguished porter!" said Atkins with that extraordinary politeness which with him always concealed some malice. "In any event, we must congratulate the Prussian army upon such an acquisition."
"Yes, Frederic has received marching orders," said the doctor, with a suppressed sigh. "He rode over to H. yesterday, but is to return. The professor went at the same time."
"Professor Fernow? And what has he to do in H.?"
"He must submit to the formality of an examination, which in times like these none can easily avoid. Of course it will be only a form with him, but we shall have to lose Frederic. We can get along without him; but how the professor, who he has so petted and spoiled, can content himself with another servant, Heaven only knows!"
So saying, the doctor stepped over to his niece, who seeming to pay no heed to the conversation, had again taken up the newspaper. He looked over her shoulder at the sheet.
"I think you exaggerate Professor Fernow's interest in unlearned and practical things," said Atkins mockingly. "Behind his writing-table and his folios, he will as little remark the change of servants, as he would have remarked anything of the war, if he had not been obliged to take that journey to H."
The doctor's small gray eyes gleamed with a peculiar malicious pleasure as he glanced over to the American, "Ah! Do you really think so? Have you read the 'Appeal to the German nation' which appears in the journal today?"
"Yes," replied Jane hastily, while with a sudden intentness, she raised her eyes to her uncle.
"And you too, Mr. Atkins?"
"The congreve rocket which this morning set afire the good city of B., and will probably enflame hundreds of other cities? Yes, Doctor Stephen, we have read it."
"That delights me. The congreve rocket came out of my house–the article is by Professor Fernow."
Jane trembled, and let the journal fall as if she had all at once taken a glowing coal into her hand; but Mr. Atkins started from his chair, stood erect a moment, and then just as suddenly sat down again.
"It is not possible!" said he dryly.
"Well, I have heard that word at least thirty times to-day?" replied the doctor triumphantly, without feeling in the slightest degree offended. "All have cried out to me, 'impossible!' I could not have believed it myself if the awkwardness of Frederic, who was sent to take the article to the printing office, had not revealed all. I naturally awaited its effect, and then I gave my secret to the four winds. It fell like a bomb into the university; it has kindled a fire everywhere. The professor must make up his mind to a reception when he returns, and I to a scene with him, for he will be enraged at my indiscretion. Bah! He did not take me into his confidence, I had no silence to keep. What do you say to all this, Jane!"
"I? nothing!" said Jane with the severest tone and emphasis that lay at her command. Then she turned away, went to the window, and pressed her forehead against the panes.
"And you, Mr. Atkins!"
The gentleman addressed leaned back resignedly in his chair.
"I shall await further developments, Doctor Stephen. You will perhaps next inform me that the professor has stormed a battery, and that Frederic has given an archaeological lecture in his place. Do not seek to spare me in the least; I am prepared for all; I shall never again be surprised at anything here in Germany."
The Doctor laughed aloud; but his merriment all at once ceased, and he gazed anxiously out at the window.
"What has happened now? Here is Frederic coming back already, and in such haste! What is the matter with the fellow? He seems greatly agitated."
It was surely Frederic hastening at a full run through the garden. He now burst into the room in such excitement that even the presence of the much feared American Miss and her more hated companion, did not affect him in the least.
"What is the matter?" asked the doctor hastily. "Has anything happened, Frederic?"
"Yes," whispered Frederic, breathlessly. "Something has happened–the Herr Professor"–
"An accident? Where? Upon the railway or over in H. Speak out quickly!" urged the doctor, in serious alarm.
"Over in H.!" burst out Frederic despairingly. "The Herr Professor–he, too, is going with us to the field–we march to-morrow morning!"
The momentary effect of these words was a deathly silence. Jane had turned around, and was gazing at the unhappy messenger as if she seriously doubted his sanity; the doctor stood there as if struck by a thunderbolt; but Mr. Atkins, after an instant's pause, said, half aloud:–
"Now, nothing is really wanting, now, but Herr Frederic's lecture upon archaeology!"
"But are my military colleagues fools?" broke out the doctor, in great exasperation. "Professor Fernow declared capable of bearing arms! My patient, who I have attended for three years! How in Heaven's name has this happened?"
"I do not know how it really came about," said Frederic, to whom anxiety and excitement had lent a wonderful gift of speech; "but it is my master's own fault. I was standing very near him when one of the doctors gave him a side glance, shrugged his shoulders, and said: 'Well you are not fit for military duty; you could scarce carry a musket!' God only knows why the Herr Professor took this so ill; his whole face all of a sudden became red as blood; he gave the doctor an angry glance, drew back a few steps, and then said in a loud voice: 'I beg at least for an examination!' 'If that is all, you shall have it,' answered the surgeon-in-chief, and you can yourself decide"–
"Was it the surgeon-in-chief?" interrupted the doctor. "I should have supposed so! He takes all! even those who, at the very first march, will have to be left lying in the hospital. Well, go on!"
"He only asked: 'Have you any illness?' 'No!' answered the Herr Professor, and set his teeth together, for the men were all staring at him. Then he drew himself up, his face became fire-red even to the forehead, and he did not look at all sick. The surgeon gave him a slight examination, and then said: 'Nonsense, colleagues, we cannot now be so critical; his chest and lungs are sound; this slight weakness comes from close confinement and study, and will soon pass away. You are accepted, never fear!' I thought I had received a paralytic stroke, and the Herr Professor drew a breath deep enough to rend his breast."