Clear the Track! A Story of To-day

"And now you are on the stool of repentance, naturally?" remarked Landsfeld slyly.

"The sacrifice–no! But association with you–yes, I have long ago repented of that."

"You are candid, anyhow," mocked Landsfeld, "and recklessly show us what a rod we have pickled for ourselves in your election. Yet there is no help for that now, and, for the present, you will be obliged to do your duty in the Reichstag. Fortunately your earlier speeches are in the mouths of every one. You could slap yourself in the face; you would now whistle to quite another tune, if you could. And once more, young man,"–he suddenly dropped the mocking tone and his voice became low and threatening,–"make no attempt to meddle in Odensburg affairs, which I have now taken in hand myself. I shall know how to answer for my conduct to the party–only see to it that you cope with your own responsibility. It is not going to be spared you, depend upon that!" So saying, he turned his back upon his comrade, and left the room without any greeting.

Egbert was left alone; silently and moodily he brooded, with downcast eyes. He could not hinder the continual recurrence to his mind of the last words that Dernburg had spoken to him ere dismissing him: "You might have been lord of Odensburg. See whether your associates will thank you for the immense sacrifice that you have made to them!" He had just received a token of their gratitude.

Then the door was softly opened, only half-way, however, and a lovely young girl's head appeared in the aperture. Timidly and with curiosity she peeped in. It was Maia, who, in the course of her tour of discovery in the "Golden Lamb," had finally reached the gentlemen's room. She had hardly cast in a glance, however, before an exclamation of joyful surprise escaped her lips.

"Egbert!"

He started from his reverie, looked at her for a moment in stolid amazement, and then sprang to his feet. "Maia–you here?"

Maia quickly glided into the room, drawing the door to behind her. Fräulein Friedberg and Dr. Hagenbach should know nothing of this meeting, else they would not allow her to have anything to say to Egbert–he was tabooed now at Odensburg!

Runeck, too, seemed suddenly to remember their altered relations; slowly he let the hand drop that he had stretched forth in greeting, and drew back a step.

"May we exchange greetings as we used to do?" asked he softly.

A shadow crossed Maia's face, just an instant before so radiant, but she unhesitatingly drew nearer and offered her hand to the friend of her childhood. "Alas, Egbert, that it had to come so far! If you only knew how it looks now at our house."

"I do know!" was his short and gloomy answer.

"Our Odensburg is no longer to be recognized," lamented the young girl. "Formerly, if we went through the works or had anything to say to the workmen, how joyfully we would be greeted by all; and if, moreover, papa showed himself, then all eyes were fastened upon him, and every one was proud of being spoken to by him. Now"–a subdued sob was perceptible in her voice–"now papa has forbidden Cecilia and me to leave the circuit of the park, since we are not secure against insults outside. He himself goes every day to the works, but I see on the faces of our officers that they regard it as a risk, that they fear he is in danger among his own workmen. But what more than all eats into his heart, is what happened on election-day–he did not deserve it at their hands."

She did not suspect the effect of those words upon the man, who stood half-turned away from her. Not a sound crossed his lips, but his countenance expressed tortures that were with difficulty concealed. Maia saw this and laid her hand on his arm, with the old cordiality.

"I know it," said she soothingly. "But I am the only one at Odensburg who still cleaves to you, and I hardly dare to show it. Papa is dreadfully provoked and bitter against you, and Os–I mean Baron von Wildenrod–confirms him in this. So my begging does no good whatever, and now, besides, Cecilia–"

"She too?" interrupted Runeck, turning suddenly around. "Does she condemn me too?"

"I am not sure," said Maia, frightened at the strange look which Egbert cast upon her. "But Cecilia will never listen when I talk about you, and fairly takes to flight. Ah, Egbert, if any one else stood in opposition to my father, I believe he would stand it better. That it should be you is what he cannot bear."

"Neither can I!" answered Egbert gloomily. "Tell your father so, Maia, if you choose."

The young girl mournfully shook her head. "I cannot–your name is no more to be mentioned in his presence. If it happens, by any chance, it makes him furiously angry. And he did love you so! Dear me, why do people have to hate one another so desperately, just because they belong to two different political parties? I really do not understand it."

Maia's sweet girlish voice sounded soft and pleading, but nevertheless each of her words pierced Egbert's soul, like a glowing reproach. He could stand it no longer.

"Let that be, Maia," said he, controlling his emotion by a great effort. "He must accept it as a stroke of destiny, that we all find it hard to bear. And you, poor child! have we drawn you into the net, too, and destroyed the sunny cheerfulness of your spirits?"

The face of the young girl suddenly flushed up, her head drooped, and softly, almost shyly, she answered:

"No, no–I am often enough ashamed that, in spite of all this, I am so excessively happy; and yet I cannot help it. Do not look at me in such surprise, Egbert. Strangers, to be sure, are not to know it yet, because we are still wearing mourning for our poor Eric, but I can tell you already that I–well, that I am a betrothed bride."

Egbert started back in astonishment. Hitherto he had always considered Maia in the light of a child. It had not occurred to him that love could have already come to her. Now the unexpected news called a fleeting smile to his gloomy countenance, and full of cordiality he stretched out his hands to his youthful playmate. "Does our little Maia actually have to do with such things?" asked he with an attempt at playfulness.

"But I am not so little any more," protested Maia, with a charming pout, while she stood on tip-toe and looked him roguishly in the eye. "See, I already reach up to your shoulders, and his too."

"His? Why, I have not even asked after the name of your intended. What is it?"

"Oscar," whispered Maia softly.

"What did you say?" said Egbert in shocked surprise.

"Oscar von Wildenrod! You know him, yes–dear me, Egbert, what is the matter?"

Runeck had turned pale, and his right hand clinched involuntarily with a look that was full of commiseration. He fixed his eyes upon the young girl, who returned his gaze with a troubled anxious air.

"Baron von Wildenrod is your betrothed?" repeated he at last. "And has your father consented?"

"Certainly. He was opposed to it in the beginning, on account of the great difference of age, but Oscar besieged him so long, and I, too, begged and besought him so hard to let us be happy, that at last he gave his consent."

Egbert was thunderstruck, and gazed upon the lovely young creature who so heedlessly spoke of her happiness, where misery in reality impended. For the second time fate had imposed upon him the task of inflicting a deadly blow upon a being who was dear to him, and crushing her supposed happiness with a ruthless hand. This had been spared Eric in his dying hour; he could be silent when he learned to know Cecilia as she really was; here he had no choice and could not keep silence.

"And you do not rejoice with me?" asked Maia, in a mortified and reproachful tone, as he still said nothing. "Oh, I remember you had something against Oscar, and he has a great deal against you. I have known this a long while, although neither of you will own it. But you can surely congratulate me, any way.–I am indescribably happy."

Runeck ground his teeth together. He could not wish her joy, even as a mere matter of ceremony, which under these circumstances would have been the bitterest mockery, and yet he felt that he dared not now and in this place keep his secret. Fortunately accident came to his assistance, for out in the passage became audible the voice of Dr. Hagenbach.

"Have you seen Fräulein Dernburg anywhere? We must hurry to the station,–the train will be here in ten minutes."

"I must!" whispered Maia, pricking up her ears. "Farewell, Egbert. I shall always hold you dear, whatever happens. And you cannot forget, either, that Odensburg was so long your home."

Once more the brown eyes were uplifted to him in fervent deprecation, and then the young girl glided quickly away. Runeck breathed a sigh of relief that he had no longer to withstand the battery of those happy, unsuspecting eyes, but, at the same time, great waves of rebellion came rolling over his tortured soul.

This, then, had been Wildenrod's aim. He had set his covetous eye upon Odensburg, and would never rest until the booty was his, and Maia's hand was to lay it within his grasp. And Cecilia knew this, and did not interfere. Indeed, he was her brother, whom she loved in spite of everything–it was only to save him that she had become Eric's wife. And she did not know the truth. Oh, why had he concealed it from her that time? But now her feelings were no longer to be considered, either–the thing was to rescue Maia: now, to be silent any longer were a crime.

"No, I shall not forget that Odensburg was, for so long a time, my home," murmured Egbert, drawing himself up resolutely, "if I do have to prove it in a different way from what you expect, my poor little Maia. Shall I write to Dernburg? Impossible. I am wholly out of favor with him–he believes the worst of me; he would deem the letter a wretched calumny, and Wildenrod would win his game nevertheless. There is no help for it, I must fight the battle face to face, and not give up either, until it is decided, until Maia is released from this bond. Be it so, then–I am going to Odensburg."

CHAPTER XXI.

FROM HEIGHTS OF BLISS TO DEPTHS OF WOE

There prevailed at Odensburg the sultriness that portends the gathering storm. The air was heavy with it, and, according to every sign, when the tempest broke forth it would be a severe one.

This was the day when the workmen who had been discharged, in consequence of the proceedings of election-day, had to leave their workshops. There were hundreds of them, and all their fellows had declared that they, too, would lay down their work, if those dismissals were not withdrawn.

In Dernburg's office a conference had just taken place. There were present, besides the Baron von Wildenrod, who was never missing upon such occasions, the three highest officials; and they had tried, with all their might, to bring the chief to a milder view of what had happened. It had been in vain.

"The word stands, the orders given are to be carried through with the greatest exactness!" he declared. "You will see to it, gentlemen, that your subordinates conform precisely to the directions given. Every special event is to be immediately announced to me. We are going to have a serious, perhaps terrible time, and I calculate upon each one of you doing his duty in fullest measure."

"With us that is a matter of course, Herr Dernburg," replied the director, "and I believe that I can also answer for our subordinates. And perhaps, after all, it will not come to the worst. Many signs go to show that the mood at the works is a very depressed one. Many are already repenting of the decision, into which they were half enticed and half forced. We know exactly what hands here have been active. The people have been put up to mischief, and goaded on in an unheard-of manner."

"I know that, but they have allowed themselves to be stirred up by strangers, and against me. Now, they can have their way."

This answer sounded so stern, that the director lost courage for making further representations; he cast a meaning glance at his colleague, and now the upper-engineer took up the theme.

"I also am convinced that the majority already begin to be conscious of having acted over-hastily. They will silently let drop that crazy petition, in which Fallner's remaining was also included. A great part will quietly work on, the others will follow sooner or later, and the whole move come to nothing, if you could make up your mind, Herr Dernburg, to show the slightest disposition to conciliate."

"No!" said Dernburg, with cold severity.

"But what is to be done with the men who go to work as usual to-morrow morning?"

"They have to make the express declaration that they are not in accord with their fellows, and intend to submit unconditionally to my requirements–then they shall be free to resume work."

"They will not come up to that," objected Winning, reflectively.

"Well, then, the workshops remain closed. We shall see who will hold out the longer–they or I!"

"Exactly my opinion," remarked Wildenrod. "That you owe to yourself and your position. You seem to be of a different opinion, gentlemen, but you will soon be convinced yourselves that this is the only right way whereby we may force the body of workmen into subjection, and that, indeed, in the shortest space of time."

The officers were silent: they were already accustomed to the Baron's thus planting himself beside their chief, and the right being conceded to him. They certainly did not deem Wildenrod's influence as especially salutary, and here he was again doing every thing he possibly could to uphold Dernburg in the stand that he had taken. But gradually they had come to see in him Dernburg's future son-in-law and the future master of Odensburg: they did not attempt, then, to controvert his position, which would have been useless; and now when Dernburg gave the sign for them to disperse, while he rose to his feet, they parted with a silent bow.

"I do believe those gentlemen are apprehensive of some sort of an insurrection," mocked Oscar, when the door had closed behind them. "They would make every possible concession for the sake of sweet peace. I am so glad that you held firm here; any yielding would have been unpardonable weakness."

Dernburg had stepped to the window. He seemed to have grown older by years in these few days, but however bitter the experience might have been, it had not quelled his spirit,–that iron will of his was stamped upon every movement. There was something that awed in the stern rigidity of his features, whence every trace of mildness had flown. He silently gazed over at the works. The chimneys there were still smoking, the furnaces glowed, all the mighty forces of those restless activities were still astir, still toiled thousands of hands. "To-morrow all this will lie there still and dead–for how long?"

Involuntarily he had spoken these last words aloud, and Wildenrod, who had drawn near, heard him.

"Why, it will not last long," said he confidently. "In your hands lies the power, and it can do the Odensburgers no harm, if at last they are made sensible of this. This riff-raff, that left you in the lurch without ceremony to run after the first hunter that whistled to them! Such a set–"

"Oscar, you are speaking of my workmen!" interrupted Dernburg angrily.

"Yes, indeed, of your workmen, who showed you their devotion in such a touching manner! I can feel with you what was then passing in your soul."

"No, Oscar, that you cannot," said Dernburg, with grave earnestness. "You have come as a stranger to Odensburg. With you, your future position here is only a question of power. Perhaps, hereafter, it must be the same for me, but formerly it was different. I stood at the head of my workmen, but all that I did was done with them and for them, and as each one could depend upon me, in times of danger and distress, I believed that I could depend upon them, every one. That is all over now! Fool that I was! They want no peace, they want war!"

"Yes, that is what they want," remarked Wildenrod, "and they shall find us ready. We shall soon put down this rebellious Odensburg."

"Oh, certainly, we are going to conquer," exclaimed Dernburg with intense bitterness. "I shall force my workmen to subjection and they will submit; but with hatred and malice in their hearts–with hatred against me! Every apparent reconciliation will only be an armistice, during which they will gather new forces, in order to hurl them against me, and then I shall be obliged to quell them again, and thus the breach will become wider and wider, until one party is destroyed. Such a life I cannot bear!"

With an impetuous movement he turned away from the window, as though he could no longer endure the sight of his works over there, and his voice had a weary sound, as he continued:

"I have always thought that I would hold the reins at Odensburg as long as I lived, but for eight days past, I have been thinking differently. Who knows, Oscar, whether I may not turn over the management to you. even during my lifetime. In the crisis ahead of us, perhaps you would fill the place better than I."

"Heavens, what an idea!" cried Wildenrod, shocked, and at the same time dazzled by the unsuspected prospect that opened up before him. "You are not seriously thinking of retiring?"

"For the present–no!" said Dernburg, straightening himself up. "I have never yet avoided a battle when forced upon me, and shall fight this one through also."

"And depend upon me to stand by you!" said Oscar, offering him his hand. "But one thing more: the director seems to dread lest there be disturbances at the works to-day, when it comes to paying off and discharging the offenders. The necessary measures have been taken, indeed, but I place myself at your disposal, if the authority of the officers should not prove adequate. You yourself should not appear in person. You owe it to yourself and your station not to expose yourself to insults that, from words, might extend to acts. Leave that to me!"

An infinitely bitter smile played about Dernburg's lips, but he made a gesture of dissent.

"I thank you, Oscar. Of your courage I have never had a doubt, but in such affairs I allow no one to represent me. But you shall have your place by my side. People shall see and know that I concede to you the rights of a son. I no longer make any secret of that."

The two men again shook hands warmly, then Wildenrod went. In the ante-room, a servant came forward with this announcement:

"Baron von Wildenrod, you will find upon your desk a note from Castle Eckardstein, which came about a half hour ago. We did not dare to disturb you, and the messenger was not to wait for an answer."

"It is well," said the Baron, abstractedly. He had other things on his mind now–that expression which had been dropped just now, Dernburg's hint, that he might possibly give up the management of Odensburg very shortly. Had this been nothing but an ebullition of anger, a passing whim, that one was not to take in earnest? No, the man was cut to the quick; if he was actually forced into a prolonged battle with his workmen, it was likely, yea, certain, that he would put that thought into action,–and Oscar von Wildenrod would step into his place. Was it indeed true that the hotly contested goal was so close at hand? Oscar's eyes flashed. Oh, he would have no sentimental scruples like his future father-in-law–that rebellious Odensburg should learn to know its new master, this he vowed to himself.

Not until he entered his own room and saw the note lying on his desk, did he recall the servant's message, and with some surprise he picked up the communication. From Castle Eckardstein? What could they have to say to him from there? The new proprietor knew, or at all events suspected, who had stood in the way of his acceptance with Maia, and surely would not make the attempt to renew neighborly relations.

Oscar broke open the seal, ran his eye over the first lines and stopped. Quickly he turned the page over, looked at the signature, and turned pale. "Frederick von Stettin!" he murmured. "What evil spirit leads him to Eckardstein, and what does he want of me?"

He began to read uneasily, with sinister looks. "It is a very grave and painful matter that I must discuss with you," wrote Herr von Stettin. "I have long hesitated as to the way in which this should be done, and have finally adopted the mildest expedient, for I cannot and will not forget the friendship that bound me to your father. Therefore I only say to you that I know your past, from the moment when you left Germany, up to your last stay at Nice. When we again met there unexpectedly, I procured this knowledge–never mind how. Under the circumstances, you will readily comprehend why I challenge you to vacate the place that you now occupy at Odensburg. They say that you are the betrothed of the daughter of the house: but you yourself best know how you have forfeited the right to link your fate with that of a pure young girl. It were a crime against Herr Dernburg and his family if I should allow such a thing to happen without opening his eyes. Spare me the bitter necessity of having to come forward as your accuser. Leave Odensburg! A pretext for your departure will be found–it will then be your affair to dissolve your connection with the family from a distance, in any way you see proper. I will allow you a respite of eight days; at the end of that time, if you are still at Odensburg, I must speak, and Dernburg learns the truth. I leave you time in which to make good your retreat: it is the only thing that I can do for the son of an old friend.

"Frederick von Stettin."

Oscar let the note drop. He had not known who was the uncle and former guardian of both the Counts Eckardstein. During that brief and abruptly broken-off intercourse last summer, the name had not been called, and when Stettin himself arrived, shortly before Count Conrad's death, the relations with Odensburg had already become so strained that no notice was taken of the visitors of one family by the other. But Wildenrod knew the grave and discreet man from the visits he had paid to his father of old. He was not one to deal in mere threats; were he to refuse to retire as requested, he would do what he deemed his duty, without any hesitation, and then–then all was lost!

Oscar jumped up and paced the floor with disordered steps. Just when he had stretched forth his hand to grasp the highest prize, then had come this crushing blow. Should he yield?–should he, in secret, cowardly flight, turn his back upon Odensburg, of which he had just felt himself to be the lord and master? Never!

Eight days' respite was allowed him: it was a long time: what might not happen meanwhile? He had so often, already, stood on the verge of a precipice, whence it seemed as if a fall were inevitable, and he had always been saved by some rash resolve, or unheard-of streak of luck, now the thing to do was to put this luck once more to the test. In the midst of the wild whirl of thoughts and plans that stormed through his soul, only one thing stood out before him, clear and plain: he must make sure of Maia at any price, must chain her so firmly to him, that no power of earth, not even her father's, could tear her from him. She was the shield that would cover him from any attack, she, whose whole soul he had captivated, whose every thought and feeling belonged to him–this love was to be his salvation.

Oscar again took up the letter and read it once more from beginning to end, then crushed it and threw it into the fireplace. The paper flamed up and was quickly consumed, while the Baron threw himself back in his chair and with lowering countenance gazed into the fire, ever devising new plans.

A half hour might have thus elapsed, when the door opened, and the servant, coming in, announced:

"Mr. Runeck, the engineer."

"Who?" cried Wildenrod, starting up.

"Herr Runeck wants to speak to you, Baron, about something important."

It actually was Egbert, who followed closely behind the servant. He entered without waiting for an answer, and said, with a slight bow:

"Pray do not refuse to listen to me, Baron von Wildenrod, for the business that brings me is both weighty and urgent."

Oscar had leaped to his feet, and now silently motioned to the servant to withdraw. He did not, for an instant, deceive himself as to the significance of this appearance of Runeck, but Stettin's letter had prepared and steeled him against whatever might come. He no longer took into account one danger the more or less; so far as he was concerned, the question was already "To be or not to be?"