A Noble Name Part 35

"November 10, 1874.

"Since writing the above I have spent days and nights partly in the hospitals, partly in the poorest quarter of Bombay. I have been at home now for several hours, and, refreshed by a bath, sleep, and food, I shall return to my patients as soon as I have despatched this letter. The occupation of these last few weeks--the old, ruinous portion of the city has been attacked by an epidemic--explains the tone of my letter. All shams seem more intolerable to me than ever before. Health of body and mind seems to me a supreme good, and I am consequently forced as well to warn the thoughtless who may be exposing themselves uselessly to the peril of deadly miasma as to undertake the treatment of organizations already diseased. It is in this sense that I send you my note of warning. Harsh as it may sound in your ears, take it as from a physician, without any false sensitiveness. I expect an answer to it only in case my words have made some impression upon you. If you say nothing of this letter, I shall take it for granted that I have been mistaken, or that the truth wearies you, and shall _never_, unless you yourself desire it, allude to the subject again.

"I am still in doubt as to the time of my return. It was fixed at first for next March or April. If I can be of use to you I will come earlier,--come instantly if you write that you wish me to do so. Otherwise I shall probably remain longer away. And even should I return to Europe, I shall not see my home or yourself until the wound from which I am now suffering is scarred over, or until you need the counsel or aid of your brother LUDWIG."

"No, no aid from _him_!" Johanna said to herself, as she folded the letter again. The thought of letting him know how she suffered was intolerable to her--why she did not know, and did not ask. Not for one moment did she doubt Ludwig's affection, magnanimity, and efficiency, and yet she felt doubly humiliated since reading his verdict with regard to Otto.

"No, no aid from him!" she repeated. But this being so, she could not go to Lindenbad, and where else should she seek an asylum? Ah, how hard it was, besides, to tear herself away from this place, where, in spite of everything, she had found a home! True, it needed but a word from her to insure her this home still, but at what a price! Aunt Thekla was right: her grandfather's last days must not be poisoned. And how could Johanna continue to dwell in the home whose peace she had destroyed, and whose children she had driven forth and made unhappy? She knew, too, that it would pain her grandfather to part from her, but he would find her leaving him 'thanklessly' easier to bear than the discovery that Otto and Magelone were unworthy of his name and his affection. She pondered and reflected, always with the same result. She must go, and upon her must rest the blame of the separation. How she should contrive this, and whither she should turn, she did not know,--but she would discover.

The day pa.s.sed. Aunt Thekla sent up to inquire after her repeatedly; had food and refreshments taken to her; wanted to know whether she should come herself; but Johanna begged her to let her be alone for the day; and at last, as if crushed in body and mind, she had thrown herself upon her bed.

And then the night drew on, a night without sleep, in which the hours dragged slowly, each throb of her heart seeming to increase the dull pain beneath which her very soul writhed as if in mortal agony. And then the moonlight came, and quivered on the walls and ceiling, as in those lovely nights when each waking moment was delight and each falling asleep again brought sweet dreams. Then the c.o.c.ks crowed, and the cold, gray light of dawn made all things look more than ever dreary; and then began the shrill, discordant twittering of the sparrows.

Four o'clock struck in the tower of the castle, and immediately afterward a low, shuffling step was heard on the stair, and there was a cautious knock at Johanna's door.

"Who is there?" the young girl asked.

"A telegram for Fraulein Johanna," the housekeeper's voice made reply.

Johanna threw a shawl about her shoulders, received the blue envelope, took it to the window, and read:

"Lisbeth is dangerously ill, and is constantly calling for you.

Pray come. HELENA."

For a moment the girl felt stunned; then she collected herself. She at once took her resolution. The early train for Hanover left Thalrode at six; she had time to catch it.

She dressed herself, hastily packed up the necessary clothing, and ordered the carriage. Then she wrote a hurried note to Otto: "I have just received a telegram summoning me to Hanover to the bedside of my little sister. I leave by the next train, and thus afford you a plausible excuse for the dissolution of our betrothal. You can scarcely marry a wife from beneath the roof of an 'equestrian artist.' The reconciliation which you proposed to me through Aunt Thekla is impossible. I have lost all confidence in you, and you would never forgive me for the scene in the forest. I must leave you to make the necessary explanations to my grandfather, and I bid you farewell in the fullest sense of the word."

With this letter she went to Aunt Thekla. The old lady was still in bed, but wide awake. She, too, had been unable to sleep from anxiety.

"My child, what does this mean?" she asked, when she saw Johanna appear in her travelling-dress.

Johanna handed her the telegram, told her that she was going instantly to Hanover, and begged her to take charge of the letter for Otto.

"Drive off! without my brother's consent!" Aunt Thekla said, possessed by a foreboding of evil. "How can you? You will come back again soon?"

Johanna turned away. "Do not make my heart heavier than it is," she begged.

Aunt Thekla burst into tears. "You must not go!" she cried, clasping Johanna's hands tightly. "I will not let you go!"

The young girl gently extricated herself. "I must, dear aunt; I must go to Lisbeth," she said.

"But Otto will follow you; will bring you back again."

Johanna shook her head. "He will see that we must part," she whispered.

"But do not let me be exiled and quite forgotten; write to me----"

The maid appeared: "Fraulein Johanna, the carriage is waiting."

Once more aunt and niece embraced. "Bid grandpapa a thousand, thousand farewells for me. Try to persuade him to forgive me. Think kindly of me," Johanna sobbed.

Then she hurried out into the corridor, past her grandfather's door, where Leo arose in surprise, and seemed to ask if he might accompany her.

Johanna signed to him to lie down, and, with her handkerchief pressed to her lips, hurried down the stairs, and threw herself into a corner of the carriage; the door was closed, the horses started. Her dream of love and happiness was at an end.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE FREIHERR a.s.sERTS HIS AUTHORITY.

When the Freiherr heard of Johanna's departure, he had for the moment no thought save of the insult it offered to his authority. But when his first anger had pa.s.sed away, he said to himself that it might mean something more than merely anxiety for her little sister. Johanna's absence from meals on the previous day, Otto's conduct, Thekla's distressed face, all taken together suggested to the Freiherr some disagreement between the lovers. He determined to question Otto himself upon the subject, and made Tannhagen the goal of his morning ride.

When half-way there, he met Otto. Aunt Thekla had sent him Johanna's note, and he was betaking himself to consult with her as to what was to be done. He was startled when at a turn of the road he perceived the tall figure of the Freiherr upon his gray gelding. He could not avoid him, so, summoning all his courage, he rode towards him.

"Do you know that Johanna has gone off?" his grandfather asked him after their first salutations, and as he spoke his gaze seemed to pierce the young man's very soul.

"So she writes me," he replied, trying in vain to appear indifferent under the Freiherr's gaze.

"Indeed! I should like to know something more about it. Ride back with me to Donninghausen," said the Freiherr, turning his horse that way.

"And now, frankly, what has occurred between you?"

"Really, sir, I do not know. I should not like to accuse----" Otto stammered.

"Have I asked you to?" the Freiherr exclaimed, impatiently. "I only wish to know whether the silly child's flight is your fault; and if it is, you will go after her and bring your foolish lady fair back again."

Otto was startled. "Indeed, sir----" he began, hesitatingly.

The Freiherr interrupted him: "Deuce take you, lad, what kind of a face is that to wear? You look as if I were sending you after the devil's grandmother instead of in pursuit of a silly child who has wellnigh lost, on your account, the atom of woman's wit that she possessed!" Then he added, more seriously, "You can tell her that this time mercy shall wait on justice, but there must be no more escapades. Of course you must have your quarrels,--lovers cannot live without them,--but you will please to keep them to yourselves. I beg you to arrange them so that I and the peace of my household shall not be implicated."

For a while they rode along silently side by side. Otto, who had been too self-occupied to have any correct idea of Johanna's state of mind, had read her note with mingled astonishment and indignation. He did not divine the pain concealed beneath the apparent calm of her words; he only saw that she could give him up. He thought her conduct hard, cold, and selfish, and he held himself absolved by the scandal she had caused from all duties towards her, and entirely justified in exculpating himself as best he might. She had expressly required that he should give their grandfather a credible explanation of their separation. He would do so.

"My dear grandfather," he said, after he had taken time for reflection, "as matters stand, I find to my regret that I must acquaint you somewhat with the cause of the present disagreement between Johanna and myself."

"Be brief, then!" the Freiherr exclaimed. "Give me the princ.i.p.al facts.

I cannot stand childish bickerings."

"Just as you please," Otto replied, his task thus made more easy. "The first as well as the last cause is Johanna's position with regard to her step-mother's unfortunate second marriage. I require her to break at once and forever with the family of the 'equestrian artist.' She refuses to do so, and takes the first opportunity that offers to bid defiance to my wishes and requests."

"Nonsense!" the Freiherr cried, angrily. "I ought to have been told this. But she can be brought to reason. You can go for her----"

"To the house of a circus-rider! Never!" Otto declared, with an amount of resolution that the next moment surprised himself.

His grandfather's eyes flashed, but he seemed to reflect before saying, "There is something in that." And then, after another pause, he added, "We will write. I will give her the choice between Donninghausen and these people, and you can tell her whatever seems to you just and kind.

If she should then perceive her folly, let the whole stupid affair be forgotten."