CHAPTER XIV.
[PASTOR WIDMAN AS A CORRESPONDENT].
The Lieutenant had returned from Berlin, whither he had gone upon business for Herr von Osternau. He had driven over from the station without waiting for the sorting of the mail, because he was in haste to tell his cousin of the results of his mission, so he said at least to excuse himself for not bringing with him the post-bag, but the excuse was a very lame one, since he had but little to tell and his news could easily have waited for an hour.
Apparently the Herr Lieutenant had found waiting at the lonely station too tedious; he was in a mood on this particular evening to find such waiting very irksome, for he was possessed by a spirit of unrest that did not leave him even after he had reached the castle. Scarcely had he taken his place at the tea-table, and communicated to Herr von Osternau certain insignificant details relating to his visit to Berlin, when he arose quickly and hurried to the window, declaring that it was so warm that his head ached. After cooling his forehead against the panes he returned again to his place, only to arise in a few moments and pace the room hastily to and fro as he detailed some vapid anecdotes which he had heard in Berlin.
His restlessness was so evident that Herr von Osternau looked at him with some anxiety. "Are you not well, Albrecht?" he asked, kindly. "You look pale and your eyes are feverishly bright. Would you not rather go to your room?"
"No, no; nothing is the matter with me," the Lieutenant replied, hastily. "I am only a little upset by my Berlin visit; it always is so when I leave the quiet and repose of the country for the whirlpool of city life and sit far into the night with my old friends."
After this he forced himself to suppress all sign of the unrest which possessed him, but he could scarcely bear his part well in the conversation around the tea-table. After staring for a while absently before him, he would suddenly make some remark which showed that he had paid no attention to what was going on, and even Bertha, to whose slightest observation he was wont to pay great heed, could not to-night succeed in fixing his attention.
He was usually vexed when Pigglewitch was entreated to play, but to-night he hailed with joy Frau von Osternau's request for some music from the Candidate. He seemed to be glad to be relieved from the necessity of taking part in the general conversation. As soon as Egon had struck the first chord he left his place at the tea-table, and, exchanging a rapid glance with Bertha, retired to the recess of a window. Contrary to her habit, Bertha rose immediately afterwards and joined the Lieutenant in his retreat, where they were soon deeply engaged in a whispered conversation. They might easily have continued this unnoticed, for Herr and Frau von Osternau were absorbed in the music, if Herr von Wangen had not followed with his eyes Bertha's every movement. It did not escape him that the girl's cheeks were suddenly suffused by a burning blush at the Lieutenant's first whispered words, and that she instantly listened with the greatest eagerness to all that he said.
Herr von Wangen heard not one note of Egon's music, his entire attention was bestowed upon the pair whispering together in the recess; what would he not have given to overhear what they were saying? Several times during the month which Bertha had already passed at Castle Osternau Herr von Wangen had been tormented by the suspicion that there was a greater degree of intimacy existing between the Lieutenant and the beautiful guest than either cared to have observed; he had surprised one or two meaning glances exchanged by them, but Bertha had always succeeded in allaying these suspicions by the easy indifference with which she received the Lieutenant's homage. He had hovered between fear and hope, the hope inspired by every gentle word addressed to him by Bertha, the fear aroused by every look exchanged between Bertha and the Lieutenant; to-night fear was in the ascendant, his jealousy was aroused, he felt desperately wretched, but in another moment he was lifted to heights of supreme delight, for Bertha looked across the room at him, and there was such enchantment in her glance as he had never seen there before. She spoke a few hasty words to Albrecht and then returned to her place at table, excusing herself in a low whisper to her neighbour for leaving him to learn from the Lieutenant how her father was. Herr von Wangen was enraptured, his jealousy of a moment before vanished, he was ashamed to have felt it. Never had Bertha been to him so gentle, so kind, so engaging as on this evening after her conversation with the Lieutenant. Herr von Wangen was so intoxicated with delight that he did not notice the depression of spirits of all the other members of the circle, Bertha alone excepted.
This melancholy mood had been induced by the contents of the post-bag, which had brought a letter for Herr von Osternau and one for Pigglewitch. The latter had indeed thrust his unread into his breast-pocket, but the mere fact that it was addressed in a hand unknown to him worried and annoyed him. Herr von Osternau, on the other hand, read his letter not only once, but several times; it must have contained some very depressing intelligence, for Herr von Osternau grew graver at each perusal, now and then casting a peculiarly searching glance at the tutor, and then continuing his reading with a shake of the head. The contents of the letter must have occupied his mind during the entire evening; he took scarcely any part in the conversation, and when Egon bade him good-night he did not respond with his usual cordiality.
Just as Egon was leaving the room Herr von Osternau recalled him: "Excuse me for a moment, Herr Pigglewitch, I have a few words to say to you."
Egon turned round and awaited his employer's pleasure, divided between anxiety and curiosity with regard to what had induced Herr von Osternau to adopt so unusual a tone in addressing him.
The old man paced the room silently to and fro for a while until the rest of the family had retired and left him alone with the tutor. Then, turning to Egon, he said, gravely,--
"I have received a very surprising letter that concerns you nearly, Herr Pigglewitch, and I do not deny that its contents have affected my good opinion of you. I do not wish to discuss them with you at present, such a conversation would probably agitate me, and rob me of my night's rest, which is very important for me, and then, too, I might under the immediate influence of the letter treat you with injustice. I must give you time to defend yourself; therefore I beg you to come to me to-morrow morning at nine o'clock, and we will quietly talk the matter over. Here is the letter, take it to your room and read it. You can return it to me to-morrow. No more for the present. Good-night, Herr Pigglewitch."
Egon was dismissed. He took the ominous epistle and repaired to his room, where, his curiosity on the stretch, he lit his lamp and read as follows:
"Most Respected Herr,--Pardon a stranger for venturing to intrude upon you with a complaint and a request. In the unfortunate situation in which I am placed no other choice is left me. I must appeal to you, most honoured Herr, if I would not run the risk of losing forever a sum of money hardly earned and accumulated only by constant self-denial. Permit me to lay the case before you.
"Some years ago I loaned the Schulze Brandes, in Wilhelmshagen, the sum of four hundred thalers at a reasonable rate of interest, knowing him to be an honest man. He has justified my estimate of him as such, for although impoverished and forced to emigrate to America, he sent me before his departure all that he owed me, both capital and interest, but in such a manner that I am in danger of losing my hard-won savings entirely. Before leaving for America he gave it to my nephew, Gottlieb Pigglewitch, commissioning him to hand it to me. Whilst on the ocean he conceived a suspicion that Gottlieb had not fulfilled his trust, and therefore he wrote me immediately upon his arrival in New York to ask me if I had received the sum in question. Unfortunately his fears were but too well grounded; my nephew has never paid me the money, it is probably squandered, or lost at cards.
"My nephew, the son of my sister and the deceased Pastor Pigglewitch, of Wilhelmshagen, has repaid by the basest ingratitude the benefits conferred upon him by me when he was left a friendless orphan. He has never concerned himself about me since he left my house to enter upon an independent existence. He has forgotten my teachings, he has squandered his substance, leading a dissolute life, and given over to a passion for cards. His conduct lost him a good situation in Wilhelmshagen, since which I have heard nothing of him until the arrival of Schulze Brandes's letter, which has filled me with anxiety concerning my money.
"More than four weeks had passed since this money was intrusted to Gottlieb Pigglewitch. I did not know his address, and therefore wrote to his patron, Herr Director Kramser, from whom I learn that my nephew is receiving a high salary in your worshipful household as tutor to your son. I have now written to him to beg him to restore my property to me, but I fear that my request will be vain if it is not seconded by yourself, respected Herr. It is not probable that the money is at present in my nephew's possession, therefore he could not pay it even if he wished to do so. I might easily bring him to justice, but a feeling of kinship restrains me; I could bring myself to adopt such extreme measures only in case my nephew should refuse to pay me the money with interest. He can do this if he chooses.
"I learn from Herr Director Kramser that my nephew receives from your highly-respected self a salary of three hundred thalers cash. A young man can get along extremely well upon one hundred thalers yearly; I myself as a Candidate did with much less than that sum; he can then pay me at least two hundred thalers every year, if he only will.
"My humble request to you is, respected Herr, that you will compel my nephew thus to fulfil his duty by giving him only one hundred thalers yearly of his salary, and transmitting the two hundred to me, until the debt is liquidated. My nephew will, I am sure, be content with this means of returning to me my money; he will not force me to appeal for justice to the law of the land, and you, respected Herr, will establish a claim upon my everlasting gratitude by yielding to my entreaty.
"With devoted respect, your obedient servant,
"Widman, Pastor of Wennersdorf."
"A most edifying document!" Egon said to himself, when he had read the letter. "I suppose the communication which I received this evening and put unread into my pocket also comes from Uncle Widman." He took out the letter and read it. Yes, it was from Widman, and contained threats of arrest and exposure if his nephew refused to devote two hundred thalers of his salary each year to the payment of his debt.
Egon indignantly crushed the letter together in his hand. "Gottlieb Pigglewitch has lost his money for the third time," he muttered. "There is no helping him, he must be left to his fate. He probably knows this, and therefore has made no further attempt to extort money from me by threats and promises."
Once more the young man read the letter to Herr von Osternau; it filled him with a vague apprehension. What should he say to the kind old man on the morrow? In his eyes, his tutor was Gottlieb Pigglewitch, the confirmed gambler, who had actually appropriated money intrusted to him for his uncle. 'I do not deny that this letter has affected my good opinion of you,' Herr von Osternau had said, and certainly he was justified in saying so.
"It is high time that this farce were ended," Egon murmured. "I must leave this house, and break the spell that has been cast about me!"
He had often of late made this resolve; almost nightly, after he had retired to his solitary apartment, and thought over the events of the day, he had determined to tear asunder the bonds that were being woven about him, but the next morning found him powerless to carry his determination into execution. Yes, a spell had been cast upon him which paralyzed his will, and whose this spell was, he could not rightly tell.
When Bertha's wondrous beauty filled his mind, a wild feeling of delight thrilled through him, his pulses throbbed, his thoughts made chaos within him, he longed to clasp in his arms as his own her whom he had so foolishly insulted and scorned.
But in the midst of this rapturous intoxication he was recalled to a sober certainty of waking disgust when he remembered various expressions of Bertha's which had revealed to him her true self; he turned away from the thought of her, chilled and repelled, and in her place there was a very different image,--Lieschen gazed at him with a look of reproach, and yet of love! In thought of her he was calmed and cheered, she incited him to continued exertion, she called forth all his better nature,--she, the good angel who had led him out from the slough of an existence into which the beautiful fiend with the glowing eyes would fain drag him back!
Did he love Bertha? Did he love Lieschen? He did not know. Bertha exercised a demoniac influence upon him, Lieschen's spell was fairy-like, but mighty. His soul hovered between the two, in a conflict which robbed him of repose, subjugated his will, and made any firm resolve impossible for him.
Perhaps chance would befriend him.