"Clear the Track!" A Story of To-day

by E. Werner

CHAPTER XIX.

["OFF WITH THE OLD LOVE, ON WITH THE NEW.----"]

Maia and her companion, meanwhile, had continued their ride. Their destination was the railroad station, whither they went to bring home Frau von Ringstedt, who had repaired to Berlin, to prepare the family residence there for occupation during the winter. Dernburg's re-election had been expected with such certainty, that it had been considered in making their household arrangements. Now, whether they should go at all to Berlin was questionable, and the old lady was returning, for the present, to Odensburg.

"What was the matter with Count Victor to-day?" said Maia thoughtfully. "His manners were entirely different from what they usually are, and he did not seem at all rejoiced to see us again."

"He is still in first mourning for his brother," objected Leonie. "It is to be expected, as a matter of course, that he should be graver and more reserved than formerly."

Maia shook her little head; the explanation did not satisfy her. "No, no--this was something quite different. Victor went away last spring, too, without taking leave! Papa said, it is true, that he had been suddenly called away to attend to some military duty, but then he could have written. And just now when I invited him to come to Odensburg, he looked as if he did not care to do so. What is the meaning of all this?"

"I, too, was struck by the Count's restraint of manner," said Leonie, "and for that very reason you should not have been so cordial in your advances, Maia. You are a grown-up young lady now, and should not permit the same freedoms to the country neighbors as when you were a child."

"Victor is no mere country neighbor!" cried the young girl indignantly. "He was the friend of Eric's youth, and, when a boy, used to be almost as much at Odensburg as at Eckardstein. It is ugly of him to be so cold, all of a sudden, and act so formally, and I shall tell him so, too, when he comes to see us. Oh, I shall read him a good lecture!"

Fräulein Friedberg assumed the air of a monitor, and once more enlarged upon the need of circumspection on the part of a grown girl, but she preached to deaf ears. Maia dreamed on with open eyes: she was still haunted by the gloomy, reproachful glance of the playmate of her youth, and although she was far from fathoming the real ground for his altered behavior, his reserve grieved her. She realized, for the first time, how pleasant his cheerful society had been to her.

At the depot, Dr. Hagenbach received the two ladies with disagreeable tidings. He had heard in town of a railroad accident, that was said to have occurred in the forenoon. Since he knew that Frau von Ringstedt was aboard, he had telegraphed at once for the facts, which, fortunately, were comforting. In consequence of the recent violent rains, a land-slide had taken place, the track was blocked up for a considerable distance, and the passengers had been obliged to take another route. The Berlin fast train, then, could only arrive after a good deal of delay: no accident, however, had happened to the train itself.

After this communication, nothing was left for them to do but to wait. There happened to be, however, at the station a large body of troops, which had returned from maneuvering, and was now awaiting transportation; thus all the space was over-crowded, the waiting-room pre-empted by officers, and on all sides there reigned an alarming confusion, that made a long stay for the ladies very unpleasant. The doctor, therefore, advised that they should go over to the "Golden Lamb," secure an apartment, and there await the arrival of the train.

This proposition was adopted, and since Herr Willmann was not at home just now, the guests were received by his spouse, who, upon getting word that the ladies from Odensburg were honoring the "Golden Lamb" with their presence, a thing that had never before happened, came rushing out of the kitchen to acknowledge this honor, in the most humble and grateful manner.

Frau Willmann's attractions must have lain in the domestic virtues, for, most assuredly, they were not in outward appearance. She was considerably older than her husband, with repulsive features and a loud, sharp voice that lent something rasping to her words. And the house-dress in which she received her guests left much to be desired both as regards taste and neatness.

She opened the best of her guest-chambers as speedily as possible, tore open the window to let in fresh air, set to rights chairs and table, while she assured the ladies that she would have brought to them the most excellent of coffee, in the shortest space of time possible. She then vanished quickly, all zeal and desire to serve.

According to the assertion of the railroad officials, they had to wait at least another hour for the Berlin train. Fräulein Maia found it very tiresome; she felt a desire to make a tour of discovery in the "Golden Lamb," and when, besides, from the window she caught sight of a troop of children, who were playing in the yard behind the house, she could sit still no longer. In spite of all the exhortations of her teacher, she slipped out of the room and left her companions to themselves.

An embarrassed silence reigned for a few minutes. The doctor and Fräulein Friedberg had, it is true, long ago come to a sort of tacit understanding that that unfortunate offer of marriage should be considered as unsaid. It was the only possible way to preserve the necessary ease in the almost daily intercourse to which they were forced; and, to be candid, they were neither of them so easy in one another's company as was desirable. Hagenbach could not help giving bent to his mortification at being rejected in various covert ways, and, in spite of herself, Leonie continually found herself acting on the defensive when he was present. But, in spite of these awkward relations, it was a fact that the doctor expended much more care upon his outward appearance than ever before, and made every effort to rein in his harshness of manner as much as possible. In this latter particular he succeeded only to a very moderate extent, but he at least showed a desire to be more gentle.

"Maia is not to be calculated upon!" began Fräulein Friedberg finally, with a sigh. "I am actually in despair at times. What is one to do with a young lady, who is already engaged to be married, and yet cannot appreciate the necessity of conforming to social usages?"

"But there is room for a difference of opinion as to that necessity," remarked the doctor, irritably.

"I beg your pardon, the position is not to be disputed at all," was the very decided answer. "It is the foundation upon which the whole social fabric rests."

"You may well say so--forms!" mocked Hagenbach, with unconcealed irritation, "they are the main things in the world. What avails it if a man be honorable, upright, and true--he must yield to the first goose that comes along, who knows how to make bows and exchange polite speeches--he, of course, has the precedence!"

"I did not say so."

"But thought it! I have not given much attention to forms in the course of my life, have not found it needful either in my practice or the management of my household. I am a bachelor, though--thank God!"

The returned thanks, however, to Heaven, on account of his fortunately preserved bachelor's estate was in so grim a tone that Leonie preferred not to answer. She stepped to the window and looked out. Fortunately one of the maids now appeared with the coffee-cups and a huge cake, sufficient for at least ten persons, bringing the message that, if the ladies and doctor would be patient for a little while longer, Fräulein Willmann would prepare the coffee herself.

Leonie started at the name, and turned around eagerly:

"Who did you say?"

"Fräulein Willmann, lady."

"Such is the name of the hostess of the 'Golden Lamb,'" explained Hagenbach, who now perceived that silence would profit nothing any longer, and that the whole melancholy story would have to be recapitulated. Leonie, indeed, did not say a word, but the mantling color that mounted to her cheeks betrayed her exceeding sensitiveness to anything that reminded her of her former lover. The doctor preferred, therefore, to introduce the subject himself, as soon as the maid had left the room.

"Does the name strike you?" he asked.

"It was once very dear to me, and still is. The coincidence here can only be the result of accident, but I shall try to find out from the hostess----"

"That is not necessary, when you can learn of me just as well. The proprietor of this inn is a cousin of the lamented Engelbert, the converter of heathen, who lies buried in the sands of the desert. He has told me so himself--that is to say, not the buried man, but the living Herr Pancratius Willmann of the 'Golden Lamb.'"

"A cousin of Engelbert's?" repeated Leonie, in surprise. "To judge by the age of his wife, this Herr Pancratius Willmann must be quite far advanced in years?"

"Heaven forbid! he is at least twelve years younger than his better half, not much over forty. He was just a poor starving wretch and she a rich widow. As for the rest, the man is not uncultivated--he has even been a student, as he recently informed me, but then concluded that he would rather clothe himself in the wool of the 'Golden Lamb.'"

Leonie's lips curled contemptuously. "What a conclusion! This ordinary woman----"

"Has money and is a splendid cook," chimed in Hagenbach, who felt a satisfaction in this, that at least the lamented Engelbert's cousin had no part in the halo of ideality that encircled his kinsman. "As for the rest, the marriage of this pair seems to be a very happy one, and they also have a numerous progeny--only look at the six young lambs disporting themselves in the garden down yonder!" He had likewise stepped to the window and pointed down into the small garden, where the offspring of the Willmann family were running about, shrieking and hallooing. They were certainly not marked by any special attractions, but were little well-fed, thick-skulled creatures with yellow locks, seeming to take after their mother in things essential.

Leonie shrugged her shoulders. "I do not understand how a cultivated man can condescend to such a union. To be sure, self-interest regulates the world nowadays. Who asks after the ideal?"

"Not Herr Pancratius Willmann certainly," dryly opined Hagenbach. "He holds with the practical, in complete contrast to his cousin. Herr Engelbert left home in the lurch, in order to baptize the black heathen back in Africa. Now he lies in the sand of the desert--that is the return he got."

Leonie looked daggers at him. "You certainly cannot appreciate such a resolve, Doctor. Engelbert Willmann had an ideal nature, that followed a higher inspiration without any reference to worldly advantages, and one must have somewhat of the same nature in order to understand it."

"No, I do not pretend to understand it," declared Hagenbach with an outburst of vexation. "I am not constituted 'ideal.' I am a plain healer of men's diseases, without higher inspiration, and am myself quite an ordinary man, without any ideal--therefore of no account whatever."

Thus were they fairly launched into another discussion, when the door opened, and Herr Pancratius Willmann appeared upon the threshold, in all the stateliness of his obesity, with broad red countenance. He made a low bow before the physician, a second one before the lady at the window, and then began in his soft, melancholy voice: "I have just heard from my wife that the Odensburg family were here, and could not deny myself the pleasure of expressing my joy and gratitude for the honor that has been done my modest house."

"It is well that you have come, mine host!" said the doctor. "I was just talking about you with Fräulein Friedberg----" He was not allowed to proceed farther, in consequence of the scene that now unfolded before his eyes.

Leonie had started in alarm at the sound of the strange voice, and Herr Willmann showed no less agitation at the sight of the lady at the window. He fairly quaked, his red cheeks turned pale, and, utterly disconcerted, he stared at the lady who now approached him.

"Sir," she began in quavering voice, "you bear a name that is familiar to me, and I learn from the doctor here that a relation does, in fact, exist----"

She paused and seemed to await an answer, but Herr Pancratius only nodded his head in the affirmative; but so low was his bow, that hardly a glimpse of his face was to be gotten.

"I certainly discover some resemblance in your features," continued Leonie, "and your voice, too, has an almost terrifying similarity with that of your deceased cousin, of whom you probably have slight recollection."

Willmann did not answer this time either, but shook his head, in sign of dissent, but without looking up.

"Why, man, have you lost the power of speech?" cried the doctor, vexedly. "What means this dumb show of nodding and shaking your head?"

But Herr Pancratius persisted in his silence; it seemed as though he had a regular dread of hearing the sound of his own voice again. Instead of this, he cast a shy glance at the door, as though he were weighing the possibility of a retreat. Now Hagenbach lost patience.

"What is concealed behind that demeanor?" cried he with aroused suspicion. "Is that whole tale of relationship a falsehood after all? Out with what you have to say, man!"

The craven, pressed upon two sides, evidently saw no way of escape. He cast his eyes up at the ceiling, with exactly the same pious, woe-begone expression that had startled the doctor at first, and sighed:

"Oh, oh, Doctor, Heaven is my witness----"

A loud shriek interrupted him. Leonie had suddenly turned pale as death, and with both hands convulsively clasped the back of the chair standing in front of her.

"Engelbert! Gracious master, it is he himself!"

At this instant Herr Willmann seemed to cherish the fervent wish that the earth would open at his feet and swallow him up. But as no such interposition on the part of Heaven took place, he remained standing in the middle of the room, in the full light of day. Dr. Hagenbach, however, dropped into the nearest chair; he had strong nerves, and yet, somehow, this revelation had a stunning effect upon him.

In spite of this discovery, which must have been an appalling one to her, Leonie recovered her self-command in an astonishing manner. She neither fell in a swoon, nor fell into convulsions; motionless she stood there gazing upon him who had once been her betrothed lover, and made no attempt to deny it.

"Leonie, you here?" he stammered in mortal confusion. "I had no idea--I will explain everything----"

"Yes, I too would earnestly beg you to do so!" cried the doctor, who had now recovered breath and sprang up in a rage. "What! for twelve long years, you allowed yourself to be wept as a martyred apostle to the heathen, while all the time you were alive and merry here at the 'Golden Lamb,' flourishing as a happy husband and a six-fold father of a family? That is vile."

"Doctor," interrupted Leonie, still trembling in every limb, but still with perfect composure, "I have to talk with this--this gentleman. Please leave us!"

Hagenbach looked at her rather critically, for he did not exactly trust this composure. Yet he could but perceive that during such an explanation the presence of a third party would be superfluous. He therefore left the room. Little as he was in the habit of playing the eavesdropper, this time he kept his post close to a slit in the door, without any scruple of conscience whatever. The affair that was being settled inside was partly his concern as well.

Herr Engelbert Willmann seemed to be greatly relieved when the witness to this painful scene departed, and now prepared finally for the promised explanation. He began in a penitential tone: "Leonie, hear me!"

Still she kept her place without stirring, and looked as if she would not and could not believe that this coarse, common-looking individual was one and the same with the ideal being upon whom her youthful affections had been set.

"No explanation is needed," said she, with a tranquillity incomprehensible to herself. "I only desire you to answer me a few questions. Are you really the husband of the woman who received us just now; the father of the children playing in the garden down there?"

"Highly rational and practical!" growled the doctor approvingly outside. "No sign of convulsions! Matters are progressing quite well."

Leonie's question seemed utterly to confound Herr Willmann. "Do not condemn me, Leonie!" he implored stammeringly. "The force of circumstances--an unfortunate chain of peculiar----"

"Do not address me in the familiar tone of long ago, Herr Willmann," said Leonie, cutting him short in the midst of his sentence. "How long have you been married?"

Willmann hesitated. He would have gladly given as recent a date as possible to his admission into the order of Benedict; but there were his children making their presence noisily manifest out of doors, his eldest, a boy of ten, being likewise in the game of romps. "Eleven years," he finally said in a low voice.

"And twelve years ago you wrote me that you wanted to go as missionary into the interior of Africa, and from that time your letters ceased. Immediately afterwards you must have returned to Germany--without letting me know?"

"It was done only for thy--for your sake, Leonie," Engelbert assured her, with an attempt to give a tender intonation to his voice. "We were both poor, I had no prospects, years might elapse ere I should be in a situation to offer you my hand. Should I allow you to waste your youth, mourning over me, and perhaps forfeiting a different and a happier fate? Never! And since I knew your magnanimity, knew that you would never have broken your word to me, with a bleeding heart I did what I had to--I restored your freedom to you through my supposed death----"

"Give yourself no trouble. I am not to be deceived again," replied she, contemptuously. "Pray remember, Herr Willmann, that all is at an end between us, and we have nothing more to say. I only ask one thing of you: if accidentally our paths should ever cross again, pass me as a stranger and never show by any sign that we were ever friends."

Engelbert secretly breathed more freely at this declaration, for he had not hoped to be let off so easily, and now prepared to depart in a very dignified manner. "You condemn me--well, I must bear it!" said he softly, and in an aggrieved tone. "Farewell, Leonie, appearances are against me, but for all that you have been my first and only love!"

He cast a wofully sentimental glance upon his former lady-love, and then beat a hasty retreat. But outside fate overtook him in the person of Dr. Hagenbach, who unceremoniously grabbed him by the arm. "Now we shall have a few words together, Herr Engelbert Willmann," said he, dragging the terrified creature regardlessly to the other end of the passage, where one was out of ear-shot of the guest-chamber. "I shall certainly not have much to do with you, but this one thing I must tell you, that you are a rascal!"

Once more he gave the annihilated Willmann another good shaking, then left him standing and returned to the room, where he was confident his medical services would be in requisition.

"I wanted to see how you were," said the doctor, with a certain embarrassment. "I was afraid--yes, my dear young lady, I admit that to-day, for once, you have a right to be nervous.--You need not dread ever being ridiculed. Mind!"

"I am quite well," protested Leonie, without raising her eyes. "I have gone through a very painful experience in having my illusions dispelled. You may easily guess, Doctor, how the story runs--spare me the shame of repeating it in detail."

"You have nothing to be ashamed of!" cried Hagenbach, with warm feeling. "There is no shame in putting firm, inviolable faith in the goodness and nobility of a man's nature. And if one has deceived you, you need not therefore lose faith in everybody. There is many a one among us who deserves to be trusted."

"I know it," replied Leonie, softly, extending her hand to him, "and I shall not waste time crying over a recollection that is not worth having tears shed over it. Let it be buried!"

"Bravo!" cried the doctor, grasping her proffered hand, as though about to shake it. But suddenly he bethought himself, and paused. The "rough diamond" must have really been well on the way towards being polished, for an unheard-of thing happened--Dr. Hagenbach stooped down and imprinted upon that hand an extremely tender kiss.