Under a Charm Volume Iii Part 12

It will be some days before I officially return from Altenhof, where I am supposed to be all the time. Now I must go and see my mother and my cousin. The first agitation of the meeting will be over now."

He opened the door, and went into the next room where his family was a.s.sembled. Count Morynski was seated in an easy-chair, still holding his daughter in his arms, as she kneeled before him, resting her head on his shoulder. The Count had aged considerably. The thirteen months of his imprisonment seemed to have been so many years to him. His hair and beard had grown quite white, and his face showed indelible traces of the sufferings he had undergone through captivity and sickness, and, above all, through the knowledge of his people's fate. He had been a robust and energetic man when, little more than a year ago, he had taken leave of his sister and daughter at Wilicza; he came back now old and broken, his appearance telling plainly of health irremediably shattered.

The Princess, who was standing by the Count's side, was the first to notice her son's entrance. She went forward to meet him.

"So you have come at last, Waldemar," she said, reproachfully. "We thought you were going to abandon us altogether."

"I did not wish to disturb your first meeting," said Waldemar.

"Do you still insist on being as a stranger to us? You have been so long enough. My son"--and the Princess, deeply moved, held out her arms to him--"my son, I thank you."

Waldemar was folded to his mother's heart for the first time since his childhood, and in that long and ardent embrace the bitter estrangement of years gave way; all that had once been the cause of coldness and hostility between them sank out of sight. Here, too, a barrier was torn down, an invisible barrier, but one productive of much evil, which had too long stood between two human beings bound to each other by the most sacred ties of blood. At length the son had entered into his birthright, had won for himself his mother's love.

The Count now rose in his turn, and held out his hand to his deliverer.

"You do well to thank him, Hedwiga," said he; "as yet you do not know all that he has risked in my behalf."

"The venture was not so great as it seemed," Waldemar replied, lightly.

"I had smoothed the way beforehand. Wherever there are prisons, bribery is possible. Without that golden key I should never have made my way into the fortress, still less should we have forced a pa.s.sage out."

Wanda stood by her father, still clinging to his arm as though she feared he might be torn from her again. She alone had spoken no word of thanks, but her eyes had sought Waldemar's as she turned to him on his entrance, and their glance must have been more eloquent than words. He seemed satisfied, and made no attempt to approach her more directly.

"The danger is not quite over yet," he said, turning to the Count again. "We have it unfortunately in black and white that even here you are threatened with imprisonment and extradition. At the present moment you are safe at Wilicza. Frank has promised to keep watch for us, and you have urgent need of a few hours' rest, but to-morrow morning must see us on the road to S----.

"You will not take the direct route to France or England then?" said the Princess.

"No, time is too precious, and that is precisely the route they will expect us to choose. We must make for the sea. S---- is the nearest port--we can be there by to-morrow evening. I have arranged everything.

An English ship has been lying in harbour for the last month, of which I have secured to myself the sole disposal. She is ready to put to sea at any moment, and will take you straight to England, uncle. From thence, France, Switzerland, Italy may easily be reached. You can take up your abode where you will. Once out on the open sea, and you are safe."

"And you, my dear Waldemar?" His uncle now addressed him in the affectionate tone he had so long reserved for his younger brother.

"Will you pay no penalty for your boldness? Who can tell whether the secret of my escape will be strictly kept? There are so many in it."

Waldemar smiled. "I certainly have been forced to give the lie to my nature on this occasion, and to make confidences right and left.

Nothing could be done without it. Happily, all my confidants have become my accessories; they cannot betray me without exposing themselves. The rescue will be laid to my mother's charge, and if, at some future time, reports of the truth get wind, well, we live here on German territory. Count Morynski was neither accused nor sentenced in this country, his rescue cannot therefore be here accounted as a crime. It will seem natural enough that, in spite of our political differences, I should stretch out my hand to save my uncle--particularly when it is known that to that relationship another has been added--that he has become my father also."

A quiver pa.s.sed over Morynski's face at this reminder. He tried to repress it, but in vain--it told of a pain he was unable to master. He had long known of this love, which to him, as to his sister, had appeared as a misfortune, almost as a crime. He, too, had fought against it with all the means in his power, and, quite lately, had endeavoured to withdraw Wanda from its influence. He had acquiesced when she resolved on going with him to almost certain destruction; he had accepted her offer with the one view of preventing this marriage.

It was a heavy sacrifice--it cost him a great struggle with those national prejudices, that national hatred, which had been the ruling principle of his life--but he looked at the man whose hand had led him forth out of prison, who had risked life and freedom in order to win back both for him--then he bent down to his daughter.

"Wanda," he said in a low voice.

Wanda looked up at him. Her father's face had never appeared to her so weary, so sorrowful, as at this moment. She had been prepared to find him altered, but she had not expected so terrible a change, and, as she read in his eyes all that it cost him to give his consent, her own personal wishes receded into the background, and the daughter's pa.s.sionate love burned up brightly within her.

"Not now, Waldemar," she implored, with a trembling voice. "You see what my father has suffered, what he is still suffering. You cannot ask me to leave him now when we have but just met. Let me stay with him for a time, only for one year! You have preserved him from the worst of all; but he has to go out among strangers, into banishment. Shall I, can I let him go alone?"

Waldemar was silent. He had not courage to recall to Wanda the words she had spoken at their last meeting. The sight of the Count's bowed frame forbade any touch of anger, and pleaded powerfully in favour of the daughter's prayer, but all the egotism of love rose up in revolt against it. The young man had braved so much to earn for himself the hand of the woman he loved, he could not bear that the reward should longer be denied him. With contracted brow and lips tightly pressed together, he stood, looking to the ground, when all at once the Princess interfered.

"I will take any anxiety on your father's account from you, Wanda,"

said she. "I shall go with him."

Her listeners started in extreme surprise.

"What, Hedwiga?" asked the Count. "You think of going with me?"

"Into exile," concluded the Princess, with a steady voice. "It will be no new thing to either of us, Bronislaus. We have tasted it before, during long years. We will take the old fate on us again."

"Never," cried Waldemar, with kindling eyes. "I will never consent to your leaving me, mother. Your place, in future, is here at Wilicza, with your son."

"Who is busy imprinting on his land the mark of the German?"--the Princess Baratowska's tone was almost severe in its earnestness. "No, Waldemar, you underrate the Pole in me, if you think I could stay on in Wilicza, in the Wilicza which is growing up under your rule. I have given you a mother's love tardily but completely, and it will ever be yours, though we part, though I go to a distance, and we only see each other from time to time--but to stay here at your side, to look on day by day while you overturn all that I have laboured to build up, to give the lie to my whole past life by a.s.sociating with your German friends--on each occasion when our opposite opinions come into collision to bow to your word of authority, that, my son, I cannot do, that would be more than, strive as I might, I could accomplish. It would rend asunder the newly formed ties between us, would call up the old strife, the old bitterness again. So let me go, it will be best for us all."

"I did not think any of the old bitterness would intrude upon this hour," said Waldemar, with some reproach in his tone.

The Princess smiled sadly. "There is none in my heart against you, but not a little, perhaps, against the Fate which has ordained our ruin.

Over the Morynski and Baratowski families the decree has gone forth.

With Leo one n.o.ble Polish house died out, which for centuries had shone with l.u.s.tre in the annals of our country. My brother is the last scion of another. His name will soon be extinct, for Wanda is the last to inherit it, and she will merge it in yours. Wanda is young, she loves you--perhaps she may learn to forget, which to us would be impossible.

Life is before you, the future belongs to you--we have only the past."

"Hedwiga is right," spoke Count Morynski. "I cannot remain, and she will not. The marriage with your father brought nothing but evil to her, Waldemar, and it seems to me, as though no union between a Nordeck and a Morynska could be productive of happiness. The disastrous cause of discord, which proved so fatal to your parents, exists in your case also. Wanda, too, is a child of our people. She cannot renounce her race any more than you can yours. You are entering upon a hazardous experiment in this marriage, but you have willed it, both of you--I make no further opposition."

This was no very happy betrothal for the young pair. The mother's suddenly announced departure, the father's resignation and ominous warnings, cast a deep shade over the hour which generally fills two youthful hearts with brightest sunshine. It really seemed as though this pa.s.sion, which had fought so hard a fight, had triumphed over so many obstacles, were destined to know no joy.

"Come, Bronislaus," said the Princess, taking her brother's arm. "You are wearied to death with the hasty ride and the agitation of the last few days. You must rest till morning, if you are to find strength to continue your journey. We will leave these two alone. They have hardly spoken to each other yet, and they have so much to say!"

She left the room with the Count. Hardly had the door closed upon them when the shadow vanished. With quick, impetuous tenderness Waldemar threw his arms round his betrothed, and clasped her to his breast. He had won her at last!

Fabian and his wife were still in the next room. Gretchen seemed much put out, and cast many melancholy glances at the tea-table.

"How can people give way to their romantic feelings so as to forget all the decent, orderly routine of life?" she observed. "The anxiety and excitement are over now, and the joy of their first meeting too; they might quietly sit down to table, but such an idea never occurs to one of them. I could not persuade the Princess or Count Morynski to touch a thing, but Countess Wanda must and shall have a cup of tea. I have just made some fresh--she shall have it, whether she likes it or not. I will just see whether she and Herr Nordeck are still in there in the salon.

You stay here, Emile."

Emile remained obediently in his place near the tea-urn, but the time seemed rather long to him, for ten minutes, at least, elapsed, and his wife did not return. The Professor began to feel uncomfortable; he felt his presence to be quite superfluous, and yet he would so gladly have made himself useful, like Gretchen, whose practical nature was never at a loss; in order to be doing something, he took the ready filled cup of tea, and carried it into the adjoining drawing-room. To his surprise, he found it untenanted, except by his wife, who was standing before, and very near to, the closed door of the Princess's study.

"Dear Gretchen," said Fabian, balancing the cup in his hand with as much anxious care, as if it had contained the most precious life-elixir. "Dear Gretchen, I have brought the tea. I was afraid it might be getting cold, if this went on much longer."

The young lady had narrowly escaped being caught in a most suspicious att.i.tude, namely, that of bending down with her eye to the keyhole.

Luckily, she had had time to raise herself quickly as her husband came in. She took hold of him, cup and all, and led him back into the outer room.

"Never mind, Emile. The Countess won't want any tea, and it will go on ever so much longer. But you need not make yourself unhappy about your beloved Waldemar any more. Things are going very well with him in there, very well indeed. I'll own I did him a wrong--he has a heart after all. That cold, stiff Nordeck is really capable of going down on his knees and uttering the most ardent words of love. I never could have believed it!"

"But, how do you know all this, dear child?" asked the Professor, who in his innocence and erudition had never had anything to do with keyholes. "You were outside."

Gretchen blushed crimson, but she recovered herself quickly, and said with much decision--

"You know nothing about it, Emile, and it is not necessary you should.

As the tea is here all ready, we had better drink it ourselves."

CHAPTER XVI.