Partners Part 14

Gustave, on his side, made no attempt to detain his niece. He stood quietly there with folded arms and watched his brother. At last he asked--

"Do you believe it now?"

Sandow raised himself; he tried to reply, but the words failed him, and no sound came from his lips.

"I thought this encounter must have convinced you," continued Gustave.

"The likeness is really startling. You are reflected in your child as in a mirror. Frank, if you do not believe this testimony I have indeed lost all hope."

Sandow pa.s.sed his hand over his brow, bedewed with cold sweat, and looked towards the house, where Frida had long since vanished.

"Call her back!" said he, hoa.r.s.ely.

"That would be labour in vain, she would not listen to me. Would you return if you had been so driven away? Frida is her father's daughter, she will not approach you again--you must fetch her yourself."

Again silence, but this only lasted for a minute, then Sandow rose, slowly and hesitatingly, but he rose. Gustave laid his hand upon his arm.

"One word, Frank, before you go. Frida knows of the past only what she was compelled to know, not one syllable more. She does not dream _why_ you have driven her away, nor what fearful suspicion has kept her all these years from her father's heart. I could not bring myself to reveal that to the child. She believes that you hated her mother because she was unhappy in her marriage with you, left you and married another man, and that this hatred has descended upon her. This reason satisfied her, she asked for no other, so let it remain. I think you will understand that I could not let your daughter look into the depth of your domestic misery, and concealed the worst from her. If you do not mention it she need never learn it."

"I--thank you!"

The elder brother seized the hand of the younger, the latter returned the pressure heartily and firmly. Then Sandow turned and went rapidly away.

"He is going to her," said Gustave, with a sigh of relief. "G.o.d be thanked; now they can arrange the rest together."

CHAPTER IX.

Frida had fled to her own room in the upper floor of the villa. Another might have given way to tears, or have poured out her heart to the sympathizing Jessie; this girl did neither; but with restless haste made the preparations for her journey.

The harsh repulse of her father, which burnt like fire into her soul, left her only one thought. Away out of this house from which he wished to drive her, away as quick as possible.

Frida had drawn out her travelling trunk, which still stood in the corner of the apartment, and collected her things together. She did it silently, tearlessly, but with a stormy haste, as if she would escape some misfortune. She knelt before the open box and was in the act of laying her dresses in it, when a step sounded outside. It must be her uncle who was looking for her, she knew that he would come to her, and would beg him to take her to an hotel. There they could arrange about her return home. She would be docile, obedient in everything, only he must not attempt to keep her longer here. The steps came nearer, the door opened, and on the threshold stood--her father!

Frida trembled violently, the shawl which she held in her hand fell to the ground, and she stood as if rooted to the spot.

Sandow entered and shut the door; he looked at the open box and the things scattered around.

"You are going?"

"Yes."

Question and answer were alike short and abrupt. It seemed as if the gulf between father and daughter would again open wide. Sandow was silent for a few moments, he visibly struggled with himself; at last he said--

"Come to me, Frida!"

She rose slowly, stood a moment as if undecided, and then approached slowly, till she stood close before her father. He put his arm round her, and with the other hand raised her head. Bending over her he examined line by line, feature by feature, and his eyes seemed literally to pierce into her countenance. The old suspicion arose once more, and for the last time, but it vanished by degrees, as the father saw his own features reproduced in his child.

A deep, deep sigh burst from Sandow's breast, and the half anxiously seeking, half threatening look, melted into tears, which fell hot and heavy on Frida's brow.

"Just now I gave you great pain," said he, "but do you think it was easy to me to drive from me the one thing that could give me joy.

Gustave is right; it has been a terrible delusion, may it be forgotten for ever. My child," his voice broke in deepest emotion, "will you love your father?"

A joyful cry burst from the daughter's lips. At this tone, the first which seemed really to come from the heart, vanished the bitterness of the last hour, vanished also the recollection of the long years of separation and estrangement.

Frida threw both arms round her father's neck, and as he pressed her with a burst of tenderness to his breast, they both felt that the gloomy shadow which had so long separated them, had vanished for ever!

CHAPTER X.

Meanwhile Gustave had also returned slowly to the house. As he entered the drawing-room, Jessie came to him full of uneasiness.

"Mr. Sandow, pray, pray tell me what has happened. Ten minutes ago Frida rushed into my room, threw her arms round my neck, and wished me good-bye. She seemed quite beside herself, and declared that she must go, she could not stay another hour, would answer no questions, but referred me to you for all explanations. What has happened?"

Gustave shrugged his shoulders.

"What I feared, if the discovery could not be postponed. An accident betrayed our secret to my brother, and we were obliged to confess the truth. His auger at the deception burst forth with great violence, and was poured unsparingly upon us both. Frida could not support this, she declared she would go at once, and now is, most probably, making the necessary preparations for her journey."

"And you are not with her!" cried Jessie. "You have not protected and supported her! Can you leave her alone at such a moment? Go to her!"

"I should only be in the way," declared Gustave, with a composure which appeared to Miss Clifford as the height of selfishness. "What remains to be done Frida must fight out alone. I may, at last, be allowed to think of myself."

His eyes, which rested on Jessie's face, beamed again as when Frida had made a certain revelation to him. Lost in this gaze, he quite forgot that his words must give rise to fresh misunderstanding, and this indeed happened in fullest measure.

"All this while you have only thought too much of yourself!" replied Jessie, her excitement rising, "but if there is one spark of love in your breast, you must feel that your place is at the side of your betrothed bride."

Gustave smiled, and stepped close to the indignant girl, while he said impressively--

"Frida is not, and has never been, betrothed to me."

"Not betrothed to you?"

"No; if you remember, it was expressly as my _protegee_ I introduced her. It was you, Miss Clifford, who took the other connection for granted, and I left you in your error. But now, when I have ceased to play the part of protector, I may acknowledge to you that my inclinations were directed to quite another quarter."

He bent over her hand, and pressed a pa.s.sionate kiss upon it, which amply explained his words, but the game which he had so boldly carried on was now to be revenged on him. He had too long played the part of the heartless egoist, and must now do penance.

Jessie s.n.a.t.c.hed her hand away with the greatest indignation.

"Mr. Sandow, you are going too far! So now, when my guardian repulses Frida, when you see the impossibility of gaining his consent, you dare to approach me! You even venture to deny your bride before me, and to give the whole thing out as a farce. That is really too much!"

"But Miss Clifford--for heaven's sake!" cried Gustave, now seriously disturbed.

She would not allow him to speak, but continued, as if beside herself--