Success and How He Won It Part 20

"Very well, I was prepared for it. And now, I warn you, Hartmann, once for all, to take no extreme measures. They say you have unlimited power over your comrades. Look to it then that quiet and order are maintained, and do not hope to intimidate by noisy disturbances. I and my friends here will do all and everything to avoid a conflict. If it is forced upon us, we shall take up a defensive position, and, if it comes to the worst, I shall use my rights as master of the place. Spare both me and yourselves that."

Ulric turned to go. In the hate and fury of his parting glance there mingled a something other, deeper, undivined by any; a something which tightened round his wild pa.s.sionate heart with a cramp-like hold. He had so taught himself to despise this 'weakling,' and so triumphed in the thought that he must be despised ... elsewhere also. But if the man showed himself elsewhere as here, then there must be an end of all contempt, and the great brown eyes, which had compelled obedience from him, might there compel some other feeling than hatred and repugnance.

The pallor, which had overspread the miner's face on receiving that reprimand, became almost livid as he turned away.

"We shall see who holds out longest. Good day."

He went, accompanied by his two comrades, whose faces showed that the scene they had just witnessed had worked differently on them than on their leader. They cast back a look half shy, half respectful at their master, and their manner, on leaving the room, was hesitating and uncertain.

Arthur looked after them with a scrutinising gaze, and then turned to the officials.

"There are two already who follow him in a half-hearted way. I hope the majority of them will come to their senses, if we give them time. For the present, gentlemen, we must yield to necessity and close the works.

I quite appreciate the danger of our position here, in a secluded place with two thousand excited men having a leader like Hartmann at their head, but I am determined to stand my ground, and not to give way an inch until all is decided. It must, of course, depend entirely on your own choice whether you follow me or not. As almost all of you were opposed to my decision, I, naturally, cannot force the consequences of it upon you, and I am quite ready to give leave of absence to any one who thinks a temporary removal from the works desirable."

This proposal was answered by a unanimous and indignant negative. All the officials pressed round their princ.i.p.al with almost pa.s.sionate eagerness, a.s.suring him that not one of them would budge from his place. Even the timid Herr Wilberg seemed suddenly to have acquired the courage of a lion, so earnestly did he give in his adhesion. Arthur drew a long breath of relief.

"I thank you, gentlemen. We will discuss things further this afternoon, and agree as to the measures to be taken. I must leave you now. Herr Schaffer, in an hour I shall be glad to see you over in my study. Once more, gentlemen, I thank you all."

Only when he had gone, and the door had fairly closed behind him, did all the different feelings of astonishment, approval and apprehension find vent, which up to this time had been restrained by his presence.

"I am trembling in every limb," said Wilberg, forgetting his superiors'

close vicinity and letting himself fall on to a seat. The excitement of the moment seemed to have done away with all considerations of etiquette. "Good Heavens, that was a scene! I thought that savage, Hartmann, would rush upon him! but his look! his way of speaking! Who could have expected it from him?"

"He was too sharp, a great deal too sharp," said Schaffer disapprovingly; but, even in his disapproval and in the thoughtful shake of his head, there was quite another expression to that which he had lately manifested in speaking of Arthur. "He talked as though he had still command over millions, and as though it were not a question of life and death with him to keep the works going. With all the father's arrogance, he would have given way here unconditionally, for, as far as the business is concerned, it would have been salvation to him, and he was not troubled by many considerations as to his dignity and his position. The son seems to be made of different stuff, but that kind of speech, though a year ago it might have answered very well, is out of place now. He should have been more prudent, rather more vague in his expressions, so as to have left open a way of retreat in case of"----

"The deuce take your prudence and your hesitation!" interrupted the chief-engineer hotly. "Excuse me for any rudeness, Herr Schaffer, but it is quite evident that you have been accustomed to office life, and have never had great ma.s.ses of workmen under your command. He just hit the right nail on the head. He awed them, and, in a case like this, that is everything. They would have taken a kindly exhortation as a proof of weakness, and a cold and distant address for pride. You must put it to them in their own language, 'make your choice between this and that,' and our princ.i.p.al knows right well how to do it. You could see that by Hartmann."

"I only fear that, with it all, he under-estimates the struggle before us," said the Director gravely: "If our people were alone, they would declare themselves satisfied with the concessions made to them, but, with a leader like Hartmann, it will be different. He will admit of no sort of arrangement, and they all follow him blindfold. But our princ.i.p.al is right. He has gone as far as he possibly can. To overstep these limits would be to deliver himself, his position, and all of us, up into their hands."

They began to speak now of "our princ.i.p.al," as if it were a thing of course. In one hour Arthur had won the t.i.tle for himself; it seemed now the only proper designation for him. He must indeed have shown himself well fitted to rule.

The three delegates had left the house, and walked away in the direction of the works. Ulric spoke no word, but Lawrence said in a low voice:

"You were saying a little while ago that if some one knew when to show his teeth, and when to give them good words, then .... Well, Ulric, I think there is some one up there that does know."

Ulric did not answer. He cast a look up at the windows, and a thunder-cloud gathered on his brow.

"So all that lay hidden behind those sleepy eyes of his, which looked fit for nothing in the world but napping," he murmured between his tightly set teeth. "'So long as I stand here, I am master of these works!' I really believe the man has the making of it in him."

They here met a group of miners, special partisans of Ulric, who had not made the descent into the mine with the others, and who now pressed round the three amba.s.sadors with much noisy questioning.

"Ulric will tell you all about it," said Lawrence, drily. "I think we have gone to the wrong man. He does not mean to give way."

"Not?"

All the miners looked disappointed. They had evidently reckoned on another answer. Some angry exclamations and menaces against the young proprietor were heard, and his name was several times mentioned in terms of undisguised contempt.

"Hold your tongues, lads!" called out Ulric imperiously. "You don't know the man we have just seen. I thought we should have had easy work, now that the father is out of the way. We have all been mistaken in the son. He has got something no one would have looked for in such a milksop; he has got a will of his own. I tell you, he will give us some trouble yet."

CHAPTER XV.

It was quite early morning. Mountains and woods were sparkling in the dewy freshness of the young spring day, and the air was full of balmy odours, as Eugenie Berkow rode alone and unattended along the forest path. She was an excellent horsewoman and pa.s.sionately fond of riding, yet here in the country she had indulged in it much less frequently than had been her wont.

At first the weather had not permitted of any long excursions, later on she had lacked all inclination for it; but the chief reason, no doubt, was that her beautiful mare had been a present from her husband in the days of his courtship, and that her dislike to the donor was habitually transferred to everything that came directly from him. On her wedding day it had cost her a struggle to put on the costly diamonds which had been his bridal gift, and, since that day, they had never been taken from their cases.

In the midst of the luxury and splendour which had surrounded her since her marriage, she had moved as one constrained and ill at ease. Even the beautiful creature, which had cost a fabulous sum, and had excited the admiration of the whole city when Eugenie appeared on it for the first time, riding by her betrothed's side, was neglected by its mistress in a remarkable manner, and altogether given over to the care of the domestics.

These latter were, therefore, not a little surprised when her ladyship that morning ordered Afra to be saddled, and intimated to the servant who was preparing to accompany her that she wished to ride alone.

Though her commands caused no little wonder, they were, of course, obeyed, and she set out on her journey without any attendant.

Arthur, naturally, knew nothing of it. She saw him now more rarely than ever, for he frequently excused himself from dining with her, and their lives were so entirely separate, that it was a most unusual thing for one to know what the other intended doing on such and such a day.

Eugenie trotted quickly through the forest, without meeting a human being. It was, indeed, most solitary up here in the woods, but the freshness and beauty of the morning, the very solitude itself, had a reviving effect upon the young wife, who for several days had not been beyond the park-gates.

The works lay idle; an unnatural calm brooded over the whole settlement, contrasting with its usual restless activity, for now the centre of action was transferred to the master's study, which the latter but rarely left.

The officials came and went, conferences were held, books and papers were examined; Schaffer was continually on the road between the capital and the estates; letters and despatches flew backwards and forwards; but a shade of sombre gravity hung over all this zeal and busy movement, as though some misfortune were looming in the distance, which they were striving to avert or, at all events, preparing to meet.

Eugenie knew, of course, that a disagreement existed with the work-people; Arthur had told her so himself, and had added that the matter was of no importance and would very soon be settled. He had spoken very quietly and coolly, and had only begged her, if she went out to drive, to avoid the miners' villages as much as possible, a somewhat irritable spirit being abroad just now. The officials must have received hints not to alarm her ladyship, for when Eugenie endeavoured to learn from them something more definite, she was always met by a polite evasive answer, or by some comforting a.s.surance.

They told her there was really nothing to be uneasy about, the difficulty was not of a serious nature, and an arrangement might be looked for any day. Yet Eugenie had a distinct perception of the danger which was thus denied, and a perception as keen of the change which had come over her husband since the elder Berkow's death, though his behaviour to her was just the one point which remained unaltered.

The young wife was of too fearless and too proud a nature not to feel as a sort of offence the being thus shut out, and so obviously spared all unpleasant knowledge. True, she had no right to exact a frank and open statement, no right to share the anxieties and, perhaps, perils, which might a.s.sail her husband. That privilege, to which other women could a.s.sert a claim, lay immeasurably removed from her.

When once the decisive word of separation has been spoken, when people are only bearing with one another for a few months "for appearances'

sake," and in order to give the world as little matter for gossip as possible, there can hardly be any interests in common. She understood this, and, had she not understood it, Arthur's conduct would have made her sensible of the fact. For, as he every day roused himself more and more from his former indolence, and applied himself to the most strenuous exertion, so in proportion did he become colder and more distant in his manner to her. She was grateful to him, really, that by thus treating her already as a perfect stranger, he should seek to render the step they proposed taking easier and less painful to her.

Eugenie did not conceal from herself that Berkow's death had cleared away a great obstacle to the fulfilment of her wishes. He would hardly have consented to the dissolution of a marriage for which he, in his ambition, had so long striven, and which he had bought so dearly. His son viewed the matter in another light. To him the marriage was as indifferent as the wife, whom he, in his former easy pa.s.sivity, had suffered to be forced upon him.

He had voluntarily offered her the separation before she had made any attempt to obtain his consent to it, and the step, which almost invariably costs so many a struggle, such tears and bitterness of feeling, which, not unfrequently, rouses from their depths all the pa.s.sions of the human heart, would, in this case, be taken quietly and temperately, with perfect mutual accord, and in so thoroughly cold, polite and heartless a manner, it was really worthy of all admiration.

All at once Afra reared high in the air. She was not accustomed to the touch of the whip, much less to so very smart a cut as she had just received. Her mistress's impatience tried her greatly this morning, and if Eugenie had not been perfectly at home in the saddle, the fiery excitable animal would have given her trouble enough. As it was, she bridled in her horse with some little effort, but her delicate eyebrows were knitted and her lips firmly set, as if in anger. Whether this anger were aroused by Afra's opposition, or by the failure of opposition in another quarter, must remain undecided.

Meanwhile she had reached the farm, distant a mile or two from the works, and lying farther up the valley. Now she must begin to climb, not indeed by the steep footpath by which she and Arthur had made their descent, and which would have been impracticable on horseback, but by a carriage-road leading not far from thence up, by long but easy windings, to the not very elevated summit. Her horse, unused to mountain-climbing, chafed at the exertion required, and on reaching the top of the hill, she was obliged to halt to give it time to recover itself.

The veil of mist, which had hovered over the country when last she was there, had vanished now, and the clear sunshine flowed down brightly warm upon the earth, as though there had never been a time when the rain and the wind had here striven for the mastery, and when the whole landscape around had been shrouded in one grey shapeless mantle of fog.

The valleys lay once more blue and vaporous in the cool morning shade, and the mountains stood out in bolder relief by the contrast, their countless crests rising one above the other, seeming to press each other into the background; nothing but one great sea of forest, stretching right away to the range of blue peaks in the horizon. The dark pines had dressed themselves in a tender light green. Blossoms of a thousand hues and forms bloomed, not only in the fruitful soil within the woods, but in the rocky ground without, in every nook and cranny where a reed could find room for itself or a tiny plant take root, and the air was full of their sweet fragrance.

Then the brooks ran foaming down into the valleys below, the springs rippled gently, and overhead was spread a cloudless azure canopy of sky. All around was so golden clear, so grand and free, it seemed as though the newly awakened life of Nature must have power to heal every wound, to break every fetter, as though here nothing could draw breath that was not allied to freedom and to happiness.

And yet Eugenie's look was strangely thoughtful. There was a tension of pain in her face, as if for her there lay some secret torture in all this surrounding beauty. She should have breathed freely now, remembering the promised liberty which would be hers before the earth had been greeted by another spring.

Why could she feel no relief? Why, at this thought, did a sensation nearly akin to pain dart through her soul? Was the memory of that troubled hour still so potent within her, of that hour when, for the first time, the word of separation had been spoken and accepted? She longed so ardently for this separation, to be free to go back to her own people; she suffered so cruelly from her chains, she felt as if she could hardly bear them any longer; since their conversation up here it had become impossible for her to bear them.