CHAPTER X
Rakowicz, the residence of Count Morynski, could in no respect compare with Wilicza. Quite apart from the fact that the latter property covered ten times as much ground, and contained three or four separate leased-off estates, each of an extent equal to the Morynski domain, the magnificent forests, the Castle and noble park were all wanting here. Rakowicz lay in an open country about three miles from L–, and differed little or nothing from the other gentlemen's seats scattered about the province.
Since her father's departure Wanda had lived on at home alone. Though, under other circumstances, her removal to Wilicza would have appeared a matter of course, it now seemed very natural that Count Morynski's daughter should avoid the Castle, its master having assumed an attitude of avowed hostility to her friends and their cause. Even the Princess's continued stay at her son's house excited some wonder. As has been said, the latter lady often came over to Rakowicz to see her niece; she was there now on a visit of several days. No mention had as yet been made of Wanda's accidental meeting with Waldemar, her aunt having only arrived on the evening following her return from that expedition. Two days later, the ladies were sitting together in the young Countess's morning-room. They had just received news from the seat of war, and still held the letters open in their hands; but there appeared to be little in them of a joyful nature, for Wanda looked very grave, and the Princess's face was overcast and full of care as she at last laid down the missives from her brother and Leo.
"Repulsed again!" said she, with repressed emotion. "They had reached the heart of the land, and now they are on the borders once more. Never anything decisive, no success worth mentioning. It almost makes one despair!"
Wanda, too, laid down the letter she had been reading. "My father writes in a very gloomy strain," she answered; "he is almost worn out with the perpetual efforts to hold in check all the conflicting elements in his army. Everybody will command, no one will obey–there is growing disunion among the leaders. How will it all end!"
"Your father allows himself to be influenced by the melancholy which forms part of his character," said the Princess, more calmly. "After all, it is natural to suppose that a host of volunteers, hurrying under arms at the first call, cannot possess the order and discipline of a well-trained army. Time and practice are necessary for that."
Wanda shook her head sadly. "The struggle has lasted three months, and for every successful encounter we may count three defeats. Now I understand my father's great emotion at parting from us; it was not only the separation which moved him–he went without any real hope of victory."
"Bronislaus has always looked on the dark side," persisted the Princess. "I hoped more from Leo's constant companionship, and from his influence over his uncle. He, as yet, has all the elasticity and enthusiasm of youth; he looks on every doubt as to the ultimate triumph of our cause as treason. I wish he could communicate some of his unbounded confidence to the other–they both have need of it."
She drew her son's letter out, and looked through it again. "Leo is happy, no doubt, in spite of everything. My brother has at last yielded to his entreaties, and entrusted him with an independent command. He is stationed with his troop only a couple of leagues from the frontier, and his mother and affianced wife cannot see him even for an instant!"
"For Heaven's sake, do not put such thoughts into Leo's mind," exclaimed Wanda. "He would be capable of committing the rashest, the maddest acts in order to bring about a meeting."
"There is no fear of that," replied the Princess, gravely. "He has strict orders not to stir from his post; he will, therefore, remain at it. But what does he say to you? His letter to me is very short and written in haste. Yours appears to contain much more."
"It contains very little," declared the young Countess, with visible impatience. "He hardly touches on that which to us, who are forced to await the result here in inaction, is the one subject of importance. Leo prefers to write pages about his love for me, and finds leisure in the very midst of the war to torment me with his jealousy."
"A singular reproach from the mouth of his betrothed," remarked the Princess, with a sneer. "Most women would be happy and proud to know that their lover's thoughts were given to them at such a time."
"We are engaged in a life and death struggle, and I require deeds from a man, not vows of love," said Wanda, energetically.
The Princess's brow grew dark. "He will not be wanting in deeds when the occasion for them presents itself; but perhaps you think coldness and taciturnity are their inseparable adjuncts."
Wanda rose and walked to the window. She knew at what those words were aimed; but she could not, would not continually be made to render account of herself to those penetrating eyes which rested on her face with so inexorable a scrutiny, as though they would detect the innermost movements of her being. The Princess observed towards her niece the same line of conduct she had adopted towards Waldemar. She had spoken openly once, and that was enough. Repeated warnings were, in her opinion, useless as they were dangerous. Since the evening on which she had judged it necessary to open the young Countess's eyes, no word had passed between them on the subject then alluded to; but Wanda well knew that every word, every look of hers was weighed in the balance, and this consciousness often made her feel insecure and ill at ease in her intercourse with her aunt.
That lady had meanwhile folded and laid together the letters from her brother and her son.
"To all appearances, we may expect some fighting close to the frontier in the course of a few days," she began again. "What Wilicza might have been to us at such a time, and what it is!"
The young Countess turned round, and fixed her dark eyes on the speaker.
"Wilicza?" she repeated. "Aunt, I understand the necessity which keeps you there; but I should not be equal to the task! Any other sacrifice I could make; but it would be impossible to me to live day by day with any one on the terms existing between you and your son."
"No one else would find it so bearable as it is to us," said the Princess, with bitter irony. "I bear you testimony, Wanda, that you were right in your estimate of Waldemar. I expected the contest would have proved an easier one. Instead of tiring, him out, it is I who am almost ready to yield. He is more than a match for me."
"He is your son," said Wanda; "you always lose sight of that fact."
The Princess sat leaning her head on her hand.
"He takes care that I shall not forget it; he shows me every day of my life what the last four years have done for him. I never should have believed that he could have worked his way up with such wonderful energy from the rough semi-savage condition of his younger days. He has learned to control himself, and therefore he can control others in spite of enmity and opposition. Already I find it more difficult to get my orders obeyed when he sets his will against them, and yet the people are as devoted to me as ever. He awes them with his indomitable spirit, with his tone of command. They fear his eye more than they have ever feared me. I wish Nordeck had left me the boy. I would have brought him up for our cause. He would have been worth much to us, I think–not merely as master of Wilicza. As it is, he belongs altogether to his father's people, and he will maintain his place in the enemy's ranks, though the highest offers should be made to him by our side. I know him well enough to be sure of that. It has been a misfortune that I could never be a real mother to him. We have both to pay the penalty for it now."
There was something almost of self-accusation, of sorrowful regret, in her words. The tone was quite a new one in the Princess's mouth when referring to her elder son. Those tenderer impulses, which at rare intervals would gain the mastery over her, had hitherto invariably been stirred within her by love for her youngest-born alone, and even now she put the passing weakness from her with a strong hand. Rising abruptly, as though to end the discussion, she said in a stern voice–
"No matter, we are enemies, and enemies we shall remain. That must be borne, like so much else."
They were here interrupted. A servant came in with the announcement that the house-steward of Wilicza had just arrived, and begged to be allowed to speak to his mistress. The Princess looked up.
"Pawlick? Then something must have happened. Send him in at once."
Hardly a minute had elapsed when Pawlick entered. He had been Prince Baratowski's servant, had accompanied the family into exile, and now filled the office of major-domo at the Castle. The old man seemed excited and in haste; yet he omitted none of those marks of respect with which he was wont to approach his liege lady.
"That will do, that will do," said the Princess, impatiently. "What brings you here? What has happened at Wilicza?"
"Nothing at Wilicza itself," reported Pawlick; "but at the border-station on the frontier …"
"Well?"
"There have been some squabbles with the military again, as has often been the case of late. The ranger and his men have placed every possible difficulty in the way of the patrols, have even insulted them at last–it nearly came to an open fight."
An exclamation of extreme displeasure escaped the Princess's lips. "Must our plans always, invariably, be thwarted by the folly of our subordinates! Just now, when everything depends upon diverting attention from the station, they absolutely challenge observation. Did I not expressly command Osiecki to keep quiet, and to hold his men in check! A messenger must be sent over at once to repeat the order in the most strenuous terms."
Wanda had drawn nearer to listen. The border-station, as it was commonly called, because it was the last forester's post on the Nordeck property and lay within half a league of the frontier, seemed to have a great interest for her also.
"Unfortunately, Herr Nordeck has been beforehand with us," went on Pawlick, hesitatingly. "He has twice warned the forester, and threatened to punish him. On this last occasion he has sent him instructions to clear out of the station, and to come over to that of Wilicza. For the present, one of the steward's German inspectors is to be sent to the frontier, until a substitute is found."
"And what has Osiecki done?" interrupted the Princess, hastily.
"He has positively refused to obey, and sent word to the master that he has been placed at the border-station, and there he shall remain–if any one wants to drive him from it he may come and try."
The importance of the event described must have been greater than would appear. On the Princess's face were signs of unmistakable alarm.
"And what has my son determined to do?"
"Herr Nordeck declared that he would ride over himself this afternoon."
"Alone?" exclaimed Wanda.
Pawlick shrugged his shoulders. "The master always rides alone."
The Princess seemed hardly to have heard the last words. She roused herself from her meditations.
"See that the horses are put to at once, Pawlick. You will accompany me back to Wilicza. I must be on the spot if any events are preparing there. Go."
Pawlick obeyed. He had hardly closed the door behind him when Countess Morynska stood at her aunt's side.
"Did you hear, aunt? He is going over to the border-station."
"Well?" replied the Princess, "what of it?"
"What of it? Do you think Osiecki will comply?"
"No, he must not comply, come what may. His station is of the greatest importance to us, doubly important in view of what the next few days may bring forth. We must have people there we can trust. The madmen, to risk losing us the post just at this time!"
"They have lost it us," cried Wanda, hastily. "Waldemar will compel them to obey."
"In this particular case he will not use compulsion," replied the Princess. "He avoids all acts of violence. I know that the President himself has specially begged him to do so, and he has given his promise. In L– they fear nothing so much as a revolt on this side the frontier. Osiecki and his men will yield to nothing short of force; and to that, Waldemar will not resort. You hear he is going over alone."
"But you will not allow that," interposed the young Countess, eagerly. "You are going to Wilicza to warn him, to hold him back?"
The Princess looked at her niece with eyes of astonishment. "What are you thinking of? A warning from my mouth would betray all to Waldemar, and at once convince him that my orders are obeyed at the station, and not his. He would then inexorably insist upon Osiecki's leaving, which may perhaps yet be averted, which indeed must be averted, cost what it may."
"And you think your son will submit to be thus openly defied? It is the first time that such flagrant rebellion has appeared at Wilicza. Aunt, you know this wild fellow, this Osiecki, is capable of anything, and that his men are no better than he!"
"Waldemar knows it too," returned the Princess, with perfect calm, "and therefore he will be careful not to irritate him. He has learned such admirable coolness and prudence, there is no fear now of his being carried away when he really desires to control himself; and in his dealings with his subordinates he is invariably calm and collected."
"They hate him," said Wanda, with trembling lips. "They have already fired at, and missed, him on the road to the border-station. The second time they will take better aim."
The Princess started. "How do you know that?"
"One of my people brought the news from Wilicza," replied Wanda, quickly bethinking herself.
"A mere tale," said the Princess, contemptuously. "Probably invented by his anxious friend, Dr. Fabian. The poor man has, no doubt, heard an innocent shot fired in the woods at some bird, and has taken it for a murderous attempt on the life of his beloved pupil. He is constantly trembling for his safety. Waldemar is my son–that will ensure him against any attack."
"When their passions are once fully roused, that will no longer protect him," cried Wanda, imprudently allowing her apprehensions to get the better of her caution again. "You had given the forester orders to keep quiet, and you see how he has respected them."
The Princess turned a menacing look on her niece. "Would it not be better to reserve this exaggerated solicitude for our own friends? I think it might be far more suitably expended. You seem quite to forget that Leo is daily exposed to such dangers!"
"If we knew that it lay in our power to rescue him, should we lose an instant in hastening to his side?" broke forth the young Countess, passionately; "and wherever Leo may be, he is always at the head of his troops. Waldemar stands alone against that wild unruly band of men whom you yourself have stimulated into hatred of him, and who will not hesitate to turn their arms against their own master if he provokes them."
"Quite true–if he provokes them; but he will have sense enough not to do that, for he knows the danger, which in times like ours is not to be trifled with. Should he, notwithstanding this, risk the venture–should he have recourse to some act of violence–the consequences must be on his own bead."
Wanda shivered at the look which accompanied these words. "And you, a mother, can speak such words!"
"They are the words of a deeply offended mother, whom her son has driven to desperation. There can be no peace between Waldemar and myself while we both of us tread the same soil. Where I place my foot, I find him barring the way; when I attempt to exert my power, he is there on the defensive. What plans of ours has he not thwarted already! What have we not been obliged to sacrifice, to give up on his account! He has gone so far that we now stand opposed as mortal enemies. He is alone, is he?–let him bear alone, then, all that this enmity may bring down on his head."
Her voice was very cold and hard. That touch of maternal feeling, of a gentler emotion, which for a moment had softened it, had long since vanished. It was the Princess Baratowska who now spoke, one who never forgave an injury, and in whose eyes no injury could be so great as that of robbing her of her supremacy. Waldemar had been guilty of this, and he, least of all, would be forgiven the crime.
She was about to leave the room to prepare for her journey when her look fell on Wanda.
The girl had uttered no syllable in reply. She stood motionless; but her eye met the Princess's with such a look of stern resolution that the latter stopped.
"I must recall one thing to your mind before I go," said she, laying her hand firmly on her niece's arm. "If I do not warn Waldemar, no one else must do so–it would be treason to our cause. Ah, why do you start at the word! How would you describe it, if by letter or word of mouth, through a third or fourth hand, information were conveyed to the master of Wilicza which exposed our secrets to him? He would go under escort, very probably; but go he certainly would, in order to find out the meaning of the warning–why he was not to set foot in his own station, not to speak to his own forester whom he is about to call to account for a conflict with the patrols. It would cost us the border-station. Wanda, the Morynskis have hitherto never had cause to repent making the women of their house the confidants of their plans. There has never yet been a traitress among them."
"Aunt!" cried Wanda, in such a tone of horror that the Princess slowly withdrew her hand from her niece's arm.
"I only wished to make clear to you what is at stake. I suppose you will like to be able to look your father in the face on his return. How you will meet Leo's eye while your mind is racked by an anxiety you in vain strive to conceal, I know not. You must settle that matter with himself; but"–here the proud woman's terrible agitation broke through the constrained coldness of her tone–"but, could I ever have dreamed that such a blow would one day menace my son–that it would come upon him through Waldemar–instead of favouring Leo's unhappy love for you, I would have opposed it with my whole strength. Now it is too late for him–and for you too–the present hour has taught me that."
The young Countess was spared an answer, for Pawlick now came in to say that the horses had been put to. The Princess did not require much time for her preparations. In ten minutes she was equipped for her journey, and at once went down and entered the sledge which was waiting for her below. She took leave of her niece briefly and hurriedly, in the presence of the servants, and no further allusion was made to their previous conversation; but Wanda understood the parting glance which met hers. She laid her damp icy-cold hand in her aunt's, and the Princess appeared satisfied with the dumb promise.
Countess Morynska went back to the morning-room, and shut herself in that she might breathe freely once more; but relief is hard to find when one has such a mountain load on one's heart. She was alone at last! alone with her own thoughts, but also with her anxiety and that strong presentiment of evil in which the mother would place no faith. To call it forth, the instinct of love was needed, and no such instinct had ever stirred in the Princess's heart towards her eldest son; it came into play only when Leo and Leo's interests were concerned. Had she known that Waldemar's life would indeed be imperilled by the expedition, she would have said no word to hold him back, for might not such a word have wrought injury to her party and her party's cause?
Wanda stood at the writing-table, on which lay the letters from her father and Leo. One short warning, two or three lines hurriedly traced on the paper and sent over to Wilicza, might prevent it all! Waldemar would listen to the warning, whether he guessed from whom it was sent or not; he had promised to be more prudent, and he was well enough acquainted with the temper of the people. If, after all, he still went, he would at least go accompanied, so that they would not dare to attack him. He would not find it difficult to compel obedience, if once he determined to call in force to his aid. That which had passed at the border-station went very nigh open revolt. It would cost the master but a word to have the forester arrested and the station garrisoned by the troops–then he would be at peace.
And then! The Princess had taken a clear view of the case, and had spoken plainly of what would follow. She had taken good care that her niece should not get beyond that thought: 'and then!' Wanda had been so far initiated into the plans of her party as to be aware that the border-station now played the part which had been formerly destined to the Castle–all the machinations, which Waldemar's severe edict had banished from his home, were now carried on out yonder. There some portion of the supply of arms still lay hidden; the point of juncture was there, the centre whence messages were despatched, where news was received; much therefore depended upon the present forester's retaining his post. He knew this as well as his mistress, and the knowledge made him determine to stay on and brave the worst.
Nordeck himself but seldom visited the solitary distant station. He had too much to occupy him at Wilicza to bestow any special attention to that outlying post. Evidently he was only going over now in order, by his personal intervention, to quell a resistance such as he often encountered, and to which he attached no peculiar importance; but should he discover that at the forester's house his orders were openly scoffed at, that here a systematic opposition was organised against him, he would act, regardless of friend or foe, would go straight forward to his aim, and would forcibly deprive his mother of this last outpost, this last footing on his territory. Yet the discovery would be inevitable so soon as the fact was betrayed to him that some danger threatened him at that particular place.
All this stood out with inexorable distinctness before Wanda's mental vision; but just as clearly did Waldemar's danger face her whichever way she turned. She felt the most positive conviction that the bullet which but a short time before had jeopardised his life, had sped from the forester's rifle; that the man, whose hate and fanaticism urged him on to an attempt at assassination, would not hesitate to commit an assault on his master, if the latter stood before him alone, at his mercy! And she was to let him go unwarned, to let him go, perhaps, to his death!–Treason! Before that terrible word all her strength of will gave way. She had always been her father's confidant. He counted on his daughter's loyalty with absolute faith, and would have put from him with indignation the thought that she would ever betray a word of his secrets–betray it to save the life of an enemy. She herself had menaced Leo with her contempt when, in a paroxysm of jealousy, he had hesitated to fulfil his duty. Now this same duty, which had merely torn him from his beloved's side, and carried him into the thick of the fight, inflicted on her a far harder ordeal, the hardest of all, that of waiting the gradual approach of a danger, which by one stroke of her pen she could avert, of standing by silent and inactive, not lifting her hand to make that stroke!
All these thoughts rushed in rapid succession through the young Countess's mind, almost prostrating her energies. In vain she sought an outlet, a way of escape. The terrible alternative stared her in the face, look which way she would. If, up to this time, she had really been unaware of the state of her feelings, the present hour would have revealed it to her. For months past she had known Leo to be in danger, had feared for him as for a near and dear relative, had suffered anxiety, no doubt, but had borne that anxiety with a lofty composure, a heroism equal to that displayed by his mother; but now it was Waldemar who was in peril, and all Wanda's composure, all her heroism, was scattered to the winds, vanquished by the mortal dread which thrilled through her at the thought of his possible fate.
But there is a crisis in such moments of misery when the fiercest, the most cruel anguish gives way to a sort of stunned insensibility, the very faculty of suffering being exhausted, for the time being at least. More than an hour had passed since Wanda had shut herself in, and her drawn and agonised features bore witness to all that she had endured in the interval; now there came to her one of those moments when she could no longer struggle or despair, when she could not even think. Faint and weary she threw herself on to a chair, leaned back her head, and closed her eyes.
Then once more arose before her the old dream-picture which once long ago had shaped itself mid the glow of sunshine and the murmur of the waves, weaving its charm round two youthful hearts all unconscious as yet of what it portended to them. Since that autumn evening by the forest lake it had risen so often, so persistently–by no effort of will could it be dispelled, or scared away. The day before yesterday it had been with them again on their lonely journey through that wintry land. It flew with them over the broad snow-fields; it glimmered out from the distant mist of the horizon, hovered in the dense masses of cloud which hung so low over the earth; no desolate gloom, no icy chill could lay that fair phantom–now again it appeared suddenly before her, as though evoked by some magician's wand, all radiant in its golden glory. Yet Wanda had fought against it with all the passionate earnestness, the energy of her character. She had placed distance between herself and this man whom she was determined to hate, because he was not the friend of her people, had sought her salvation in the strife now so fiercely blazing between the two nations; but of what avail this desperate battling with a superior force? Victory had not been achieved despite of all her struggling. This was no mere dream–she could no longer deceive herself. She knew now the nature of the charm which had worked on her one summer evening long ago on the Beech Holm, knew that in that hour by the forest lake the half broken threads had again been taken up, and this time indissolubly united. At length she recognised the treasures which the old enchanted city had opened to her gaze for a few fleeting minutes, only to sink with them once more into the depths. In one respect only the legend had spoken truly–the memory of that vision was not to be effaced, the longing for it not to be stilled. Through hatred and strife, through the distant clang of war and the low murmur of rebellion came a sweet, mysterious music as of Vineta's bells chiming from below the waters.
Wanda rose slowly. The fearful conflict in her mind, the struggle between love and duty was over. Those last minutes had decided her. She did not hurry to her writing-table, or lay a finger on her pen. There was to be no message, no warning. She drew back the bolt from the door, and next instant a sharp, clear ring summoned the servant to her. Countess Morynska leaned on the table by which she stood. Her hand trembled; but her face wore the calm of an unalterable resolution.
"And if it really comes to the worst, I will interfere," she said, with lips which quivered a little. "His mother in her cold indifference will let him go to meet the danger. It shall be my task to save him."