The Alpine Fay Part 30

"I will not sign them, I say. I never will lend my name to a falsehood."

"You dare to use such language to me?" the president exclaimed, angrily.

"What other language could be used if I should sanction estimates which I know to be false?" Wolfgang asked, with bitterness. "I am the engineer-in-chief, my word is decisive for the company and for the stockholders, who are utterly ignorant in the matter. The responsibility is mine alone."

"Your word could never be questioned," Nordheim interposed. "I had no idea you were such a martinet. You know nothing of business, or you would see that I, in my position, could not possibly venture what I do were there any danger. The figures are so combined that it is impossible to prove an--error from them, and I have explanations prepared for every emergency. No one can blame either you or myself."

At this a.s.sertion a smile of infinite scorn hovered upon Elmhorst's lips: "That was certainly the last thing to occur to me! We do indeed misunderstand each other. You fear discovery, I fear the fraud. In short, I will have nothing to do with a lie, and if I refuse my signature it cannot be told."

The president walked close up to him; he was now much agitated, and his voice betrayed extreme irritation: "Your expressions are, to say the least, strong. Do you suppose you can dictate to me? Have a care, Wolfgang. You are not yet my son-in-law; the knot is not yet tied which was to link you to me. I can cut it at the last moment, and you are too clever not to know all that you would lose with my daughter's hand."

"That means that you make it a condition?"

"Yes,--your signature! Either that--or----!"

As Nordheim spoke thus explicitly, Wolfgang's eyes were fixed gloomily on the ground. He pondered all the consequences of the president's 'Either that--or----!' he was indeed 'clever enough' to know that millions would be lost to him with his betrothed,--the wealth, the brilliant future for which he had bartered his happiness. The moment had come in which he was required to barter something more, and suddenly memory recalled that hour on the Wolkenstein in the moonlit midsummer night when this moment had been sadly foretold him: 'The price now is your freedom; in future it may perhaps be your honour!'

Nordheim interpreted the young man's silence after his own fashion; he laid his hand on Wolfgang's shoulder, and said, in a gentler tone, "Be reasonable, Elmhorst. We should both lose by a separation, and it is the last thing that I desire; but I can and must require my son-in-law to go hand in hand with me, and to make my interests his own. You give me your signature, and I will go surety for everything else. We will both forget this conversation, and divide the profit, which will make you a wealthy, independent man."

"At the price of my honour!" Wolfgang exclaimed, in hot indignation.

"No, by heaven, it shall never come to that! I ought to have known long ago whither your rule of life, your business principles, would lead, for since my betrothal to your daughter you have thrown off all reserve; but I chose to see and to know nothing, because I was fool enough to imagine that, in spite of it all, I could pursue my own path and do as I chose. Now I see that there is no halting in the downward course, that he who leagues himself with you cannot keep his honour unstained. I have been ambitious and reckless--yes. I reckoned upon our a.s.sociation in this undertaking as you did, and conceded more to it than my conscience could entirely justify, but I never will stoop to deceive. If you believed me ready to be a scoundrel for the sake of your wealth,--if the future of which I have dreamed is to be purchased only at such a price,--let it go. I will have none of it!"

He stood erect, and with flashing eyes hurled his refusal at the president. There was something grand and overwhelming in this stormy outbreak from the man who thus at last threw off all the fetters of petty self-interest which had held him bound so long, whose better nature a.s.serted itself and trampled down the alluring temptation. He knew that he was resigning the wealth which would make him independent of Nordheim's favour; that with it he should be free and unfettered to realize all his golden dreams of the future. There had been an instant of hesitation, and then he thrust the tempter from him and redeemed his honour!

The president stood frowning darkly. He perceived now that he had been mistaken in supposing that he should find in the ambitious young engineer a willing instrument, a nature as unscrupulous as his own, but he had no mind to break entirely with the son-in-law he had chosen. He would lose most by the separation; in the first place, all the profit which Wolfgang's signature would insure him would be destroyed, and moreover, he said to himself, it would be dangerous to make an enemy of one so thoroughly acquainted with his schemes. It could not be; a breach must be avoided, at least for the present.

"Let us drop this matter for to-day," he said, slowly. "It is too important, and we are neither of us in a mood to discuss it calmly. I am going to my mountain-villa in a week, and until then you can take the affair into consideration. I will not accept your present hasty decision."

"You will be obliged to accept it at the end of the week," Wolfgang declared. "My answer will be precisely the same then. Let a true estimate be made of the cost of the railway, at its highest valuation, and I will not refuse to give it my sanction. I never will sign my name to the present one. That is my final word. Farewell!"

"You are going back immediately?" Nordheim asked.

"Certainly; the next express leaves in an hour, and the business that brought me here is concluded. My presence is indispensable at my post."

He bowed and took his leave, not after the familiar fashion of the future son-in-law, but formally, as a stranger, and the president felt the significance of his manner.

When Elmhorst reached the s.p.a.cious vestibule he found there two servants awaiting him. His rooms had been prepared for him, and the lackeys asked for further orders, but he waved them aside: "Thanks, I am going directly back again, and shall not use the rooms."

The men looked surprised. This was indeed a hurried visit. Would not Herr Elmhorst have the carriage to drive to the station?

"No; I prefer to walk." As he spoke, Elmhorst once more glanced towards the broad staircase leading to the gorgeous apartments in the upper story, and then he left the house where for more than six months he had been regarded as a son, and upon which he was now turning his back forever.

Outside, the October evening was cold and damp; the skies were starless, the air was full of mist, and a keen blast heralded the approach of winter. Involuntarily Wolfgang drew his travelling-cloak closer about his shoulders, as he strode forward at a rapid pace.

It was over! He was perfectly aware of it, and he also clearly perceived Nordheim's desire to avoid a sudden breach for fear lest the man so lately his confidant should expose him by way of revenge. A contemptuous smile curled the young man's lip. Such a fear was quite superfluous; any such act was entirely beneath him. His thoughts wandered to where they had rarely been of late,--to his betrothed.

Alice would not suffer if the betrothal were dissolved. She had accepted his suit without opposition in compliance with her father's wish, and she would bend to his will with the same docility should he sever the tie. There had never been any talk of love between them; neither would be conscious of loss.

Wolfgang drew a deep breath. He was free again, free to choose; he could pursue his proud, lonely path, dependent only upon his own courage and capacity, but the voice which had roused him from the stupor of egotism and ambition would never again sound in his ears, the lovely face would never again smile upon him. That prize belonged to another, and, whatever he might achieve in the future, his happiness had been bartered away,--lost forever.

CHAPTER XVIII.

A MOUNTAIN RAMBLE.

Autumn this year had donned the aspect of a late summer. The days, with but few exceptions, were sunny and clear, the air was mild, and the mountains stood revealed in all their rarest beauty.

The inmates of the Nordheim villa had prolonged their stay, which had been at first arranged for only the summer months, into October. They had been induced to do this, first out of consideration for Alice's health, and then in accordance with Erna's wish to spend as long a time as was possible among her beloved mountains. Since she had been betrothed to Waltenberg her position in the household had undergone a change; Frau von Lasberg no longer permitted herself to find fault with her, and the president was always ready to forestall his niece's wishes. Waltenberg himself, who disliked a city life with its conventionalities and restraints, was glad to be rid of it, and the Baroness alone sighed about the 'endless exile,' and comforted herself with the prospect of a winter more than usually gay. Now that Erna was also betrothed and that Elmhorst would be in the capital during the winter months, after his labours as engineer among the mountains were at an end, the Nordheim mansion would surely justify its reputation.

There would doubtless be a series of entertainments in honour of the young couples, and Frau von Lasberg revelled in the contemplation of the prominent part it would be hers to play.

Erna and Alice were sitting on the veranda of the villa, and the gay chatter heard thence absolutely came from the lips of Alice Nordheim.

There was not a vestige of the air of indifference with which she used to speak formerly. The change that had taken place in her bordered on the miraculous: the sickly pallor the weary movements, the fatigued, unsympathetic expression, had all vanished; the cheeks were rosy, the eyes bright. Whether it were owing to the mountain-air which blew here so pure and fresh, or to the treatment of the young physician, the fact was that in a few months the girl had blossomed forth like some flower which, fading and sickly in the shade, expands into tender beauty in the clear, warm sunshine.

"I wonder where Herr Waltenberg is?" she was just saying. "He is usually here before this time."

"Ernst wrote me that he should be rather late today, since he meant to bring us a surprise from Heilborn," Erna replied. She was seated at her drawing, from which she did not look up, nor did she evince the slightest interest in the promised surprise.

"'Tis strange that he should write to you so often, when he sees you every day," remarked Alice, who was quite unused to such attentions from her own lover. "And then he fairly overwhelms you with flowers, for which, it seems to me, you are not half grateful enough."

"I am afraid that is Ernst's own fault," was the quiet reply. "He spoils me, and I am too ready to be spoiled."

"Yes, there is something exaggerated in his manner of wooing," Alice interposed. "His love seems to me like a fire, which burns rather than illumines."

"His is an unusual nature," said Erna. "He must not be judged by the standard we apply to others. Believe me, Alice, much, nay, everything, can be endured in the consciousness that one is supremely and ardently beloved."

She laid down her pencil and looked dreamily abroad into s.p.a.ce. It sounded odd, the word 'endured,' and its significance was not softened by so much as the shadow of a smile. Indeed, the expression of gravity was deepened in the young girl's face, and in her eyes there was an indescribable something which a.s.suredly was not happiness.

In the short pause that ensued, the noise of carriage-wheels became audible, and some vehicle drew up in front of the house. Erna shivered slightly; she knew who was at hand, although from where she sat the road could not be seen. She slowly closed her sketchbook and arose, but before she could leave the veranda, a young creature came flying out of the drawing-room and clasped her in an enthusiastic embrace, after which she turned just as eagerly to Alice.

"Why, Molly, is this you?" both girls exclaimed, in a breath.

It was in fact Frau Gersdorf, rosy, merry, and saucy as ever, and behind her appeared Ernst Waltenberg, evidently delighted with the success of his surprise.

"Yes, it is really I," the new-comer began. "Albert had a tiresome, never-ending suit to attend to in Heilborn, and of course I came with him. The poor fellow's hard work must be made as tolerable as possible for him, so I always go with him upon these expeditions. I verily believe that if he should take it into his head to climb Mount Blanc, or the Himalayas, I should scramble up after him. Thank G.o.d, there are no cases to try up there, so there is no chance of his undertaking the ascents. And how are you all here? You have absolutely vanished from the capital. But there's no need to ask; Alice looks fresh as a rose, and Erna is planning her wedding-tour, I hear. Where is it to be? To the South Sea or the North Pole? I should advise the South Sea,--the climate is milder."

She paused to take breath, and without waiting for a reply threw herself into an arm-chair and declared that she was too tired to say a single word.

After the first exchange of greetings Ernst approached his betrothed and handed her a bouquet of costly foreign flowers, rich in colour and exhaling an overpowering fragrance.

"Did I not keep my promise?" he said, pointing to Molly. "I planned this surprise with Albert yesterday afternoon, knowing I should surely be welcome so accompanied."

"But that you always are," said Erna, taking the flowers from him with thanks.

"Always?" he repeated. "Really always? Some times I doubt it."

"Do not say that, Ernst."