No Surrender

by E. Werner

CHAPTER XVIII.

It was evening, but, in spite of the lateness of the hour and the chilly inclement autumn weather, the streets of the capital were yet alive with all the busy restless movement which characterises a great city. Carriages rolled hither and thither in every direction, pedestrians hustled each other on the pavement and before the brightly-lighted shops, and it was only in the more aristocratic quarter, which lay a little aside from the main streets and chief arteries of traffic, that a certain stately peace and quiet reigned supreme.

In the room which she was at present occupying in the Selteneck mansion, Gabrielle Harder sat alone, buried in one of those deep troubled reveries which so often came upon her now, and which threatened to transform the bright vivacious girl into a dreamy, pensive heroine. She was in full dress, for she was going with her party to the opera that evening; but as she lay back in her arm-chair, heedlessly crushing the dainty laces on her dress, her thoughts were evidently far from the amusements of the hour.

If anything could have diverted Gabrielle from her unwonted sadness, it would have been this visit to the capital, where she and her mother had been most graciously received. The Countess Selteneck was an old and intimate friend of the Baroness. She had been a frequent visitor at the Harders' house in the old days, and since the Baron's death had remained in constant correspondence with his widow. The pleasure felt by the ladies on meeting again was great and mutual, and the Countess, who had no children of her own, indulged and spoiled her friend's sweet daughter in every imaginable way.

The Baroness, on her arrival in town, came to hear of the attack which had been made upon Raven, but she was far too superficial to appreciate the real importance of the well-directed blow, which, in her eyes, was a mere passing annoyance, such as the rioting in R---- for instance. It never, in the remotest degree, occurred to her to suppose that the Baron's position might be imperilled by what had happened. His affairs, indeed, only interested her in so far as her own future might be involved in them. Madame von Harder did not pretend to the slightest sympathy or affection for her brother-in-law. She feared him, and that was all. Indignant she was, no doubt, at the "audacious impertinence of that Winterfeld," seeing in the young man's conduct only an act of revenge for the discomfiture he had met with, but she never for a moment doubted that the Baron would visit the rash offender with the chastisement which was his due. For the rest, she saw no reason why she should torment herself with all these tiresome, disagreeable matters, which would be set at rest long before she returned home. The autumn fashions, the evening parties, and the performances at the opera, were far more interesting, and, as she thought, better worth her attention.

That her daughter would not dream of renewing her engagement to the Assessor after the affront which the latter had put on the head of her family, this wise lady took for granted. All her care was given to preventing a meeting between the two, which was not difficult. George did not mix in the Selteneck circles; and here, amid these strange surroundings, Gabrielle was never left alone. She had, indeed, made no attempt to inform the young man of her presence in town, trembling at the very thought of a meeting with him. How could she approach George, while her heart was beating high with love for another man? Though so much had lately come between herself and Arno, she could not forget; not even his harshness and injustice could banish his image from her mind, and the knowledge that some danger threatened him served to quicken her affection. Gabrielle was better able than her mother to estimate the true bearings of the case. For weeks she had followed the course of events with feverish interest. She, who at other times never opened a paper, now sought with avidity every notice affecting the Baron, and caught at every remark made in conversation which bore on the one subject that engrossed her thoughts. Winterfeld's book, with its long list of charges, had set before the young girl's eyes Raven's true portrait, which she was forced to recognise as a faithful likeness, had displayed to her the darker side of his character--while, as opposed to it, George's figure rose before her, so pure and steadfast and nobly courageous in the sacrifice of his entire future and prospects to that which he deemed duty. But of what avail all this? Gabrielle's whole soul went back to the sombre, despotic man, who had won her to himself. In imagination she stood by his side through the fight; for his sake she grew anxious and apprehensive of the issue, while a feeling of bitterness rose up within her against George, for was it not he who had been the first to assail, to insult the man she loved?

The clock on the mantelpiece chiming the hour awoke Gabrielle from her dreams, and reminded her that it was time to prepare for the drive to the theatre. Throwing a light cloak round her shoulders, she drew on her gloves, and went down to the drawing-room, where her mother and Countess Selteneck were already awaiting her.

Countess Selteneck was of about the same age as the Baroness, but looked considerably younger, precisely, perhaps, because she gave herself far less trouble to preserve a youthful appearance. Though not beautiful, she captivated by her prepossessing manners, and a certain air of calm intelligence which inspired confidence and respect. Both ladies were in full evening dress.

"I can understand how much you must suffer from the constraint, and from the general position of affairs in your brother-in-law's house, Matilda," the Countess remarked; "but what will not a woman endure for her child's sake? Gabrielle's whole future is in his hands, and as his heiress she will one day have an almost princely fortune at her disposal. Your brother-in-law has given you decided promises on this head, I presume?"

"Oh, certainly," replied the Baroness. "He spoke to me on the subject soon after I arrived at his house, but I am afraid this unfortunate business with Assessor Winterfeld has called the whole matter in question again."

"There is something very winning and agreeable about the Assessor, I must say," observed the Countess, changing the theme. "I think I mentioned to you that I met him some weeks ago at a soirée, where, truth to tell, he was the cynosure of interest."

"Assessor Winterfeld the cynosure of interest?" asked the Baroness, half incredulous, half disdainful.

"Certainly. He has become a sort of celebrity, and enjoys special protection at the Ministry, so they tell me. He is received in the best circles, and is distinguished wherever he goes."

"Why, this is incredible!" exclaimed Madame von Harder. "They are bound in duty to punish an affront put upon the Governor of R----. They cannot possibly reward and distinguish the aggressor."

"But so it is, nevertheless; and I fear it is done purposely, out of opposition to the Baron. I really do not see, Matilda, why the Assessor's offer should have appeared so outrageous an absurdity to you and to your brother-in-law. Instead of giving him his congé, and thereby driving him to this desperate step, you should have held out some hope to him."

"Held out hope to him!" repeated the Baroness. "My dear Theresa, think what you are saying. He is a man of no birth."

"That is not an insuperable obstacle," declared the Countess, a worldly-wise practical woman, who took such prejudices of rank into little account, and who was evidently prepossessed by George's manner and appearance. "What were brevets of nobility invented for? Raven was a commoner himself when your sister first engaged herself to him."

"That was an exceptional case, and Assessor Winterfeld----"

"Will be every whit as successful. You need not look so astonished, Matilda; I am only expressing the general belief. After this first stroke--a bold one, certainly, which has turned the eyes of the country upon him--he need not fear being overlooked. Had he, in addition to his other advantages, married into a noble old family such as yours, the road to eminence would have been clear before him--ay, to eminence equal to that attained by the successful Baron von Raven."

Madame von Harder had grown very thoughtful. She was accustomed to rely on the judgment of this friend, who was intellectually her superior, and the Countess's words brought Winterfeld before her in quite a new light. Very little was wanting to revive the old predilection which, in the early days of their acquaintance, she had cherished for George.

The entrance of Count Selteneck here put an end to the conversation. He was to accompany the ladies to the opera, but had been out to pay a visit from which he had just returned. Some indifferent questions and replies were interchanged, then the Countess remarked that it must be time to start, and would have rung for the carriage, but her husband stopped her.

"One moment, Theresa," he said carelessly. "There is a trifling matter I want to discuss with you first. The Baroness will kindly excuse us for a few minutes?"

The Baroness begged them not to think of her, and the Count stepped into the adjoining room with his wife.

"What has happened?" asked the latter, uneasily.

"I have heard some news which will affect Madame von Harder very painfully. It concerns her brother-in-law, von Raven."

He had closed the drawing-room door; but to this smaller outer salon there was a second entrance, masked only by a heavy curtain. Close to this the speakers were standing at the very moment that Gabrielle was about to enter on her way to the drawing-room. She caught the last words and the Baron's name, and that sufficed to chain her to the spot where she stood. Hidden behind the portière, she listened in breathless suspense.

"The Governor has not given in his resignation, I hope?" asked the Countess.

"There is no question of that now," said Selteneck. "If it were so, he would only be sharing the fate of many high officers of State, who temporarily retire from the scene of action. The news I have just heard at my brother's is of so grave a nature that, should it be confirmed--and we had it direct from the Ministry--the Baron will, politically speaking, have lived his day."

The Countess looked up at her husband with an expression of shocked surprise. He went on in a carefully subdued tone, which, however, was quite audible to Gabrielle's ears:

"The leading journal of R---- has published an article containing a series of damning charges against the Governor. It has often been hinted vaguely that Raven himself was not quite a stranger to the last revolutionary movement; but then, how many allowed themselves to be led away at that time! These ideas are a form of youthful extravagance to which no weight is attached, so long as they remain mere intangible ideas; but in this article it is stated that Raven was a member, a leader even, of the association with which Dr. Brunnow--the same whose recapture created such a sensation lately--was connected, and as the reputed head of which that person was condemned. It is further stated that Raven betrayed his friends in the most dishonourable manner, giving up all their papers, and thus furnishing documentary proofs. His admittance to the Ministry was, they say, the price of this infamous action. The accusation is couched in terms so decided and outspoken that it is difficult to doubt its veracity. The testimony of Dr. Brunnow himself is appealed to, as corroborative evidence."

"And what is Raven's answer to all this?" interposed the Countess, hastily.

"He declares it to be absolutely and altogether a lie. The duty of self-defence requires this from him, of course; but of counter proofs there is no mention as yet. If he does not succeed in clearing up this business, and cleansing himself from all suspicion, his part is played out."

"Poor Matilda!" exclaimed the Countess.

The Count shrugged his shoulders.

"Shall we keep the knowledge of what is going on from her for a time?" "No," replied the Countess, "She will learn it tomorrow from the papers. It will be best to tell her all."

The two agreed that the intended visit to the opera should be given up, and went back to the drawing-room together.

Gabrielle's face was ashy white as she left her place of concealment, and returned to her own room. She did not for a moment deceive herself as to the importance of the tidings she had just heard. The instinct of love gave her a better insight into Raven's character than the most experienced judge of human actions might have had. She knew that the Baron was equal to any contest, strong enough to bear any stroke of Fate, except that which should come in the guise of shame and humiliation, and of this nature was the blow now levelled at him by his enemies.

While Countess Selteneck was communicating to the Baroness the painful intelligence, the young girl sat down to her writing-table, and rapidly, with feverish haste, traced some lines on a sheet of letter-paper. This note, which contained but a few words, she folded, and addressed to Assessor Winterfeld at the Ministry. It would surely find him there, she knew. It contained simply the news of her presence in town, and a request that George would come and see her on the following day at the Seltenecks' house; that was all.

In the afternoon of the following day, George Winterfeld entered the Countess's drawing-room. Gabrielle came in a few minutes later, and George hastened to greet her with impetuous joy.

"Gabrielle, my darling, so we meet again at last!"

In his transport of delight he did not notice that her hand lay motionless in his, giving no pressure in return, and that all the answer he received to his tender greeting was a faint, sad smile. He went on, still joyously excited:

"But what does all this mean? I thought you were far away in R----, and only now hear that you are in town, living close by me. And what am I to think of the little note which summoned me hither? Does your mother know of the invitation?"

"No," said Gabrielle, in decided accents, that sounded strangely from her lips. "She has driven out with Countess Selteneck; but I mean to tell her when she comes back that I asked you to come, and why. She would not have given her consent to this interview, and I felt that I must speak to you."

George looked at her in some astonishment. It had not formerly been Gabrielle's way to proceed thus with plan and resolution.

"I, too, longed inexpressibly to see you again," he replied. "There was no possibility of sending you news of me. I cannot keep up any communication with the Governor's house, especially against his will. You know, I suppose, on what footing I stand towards him now?"

"I had to hear of it--from others. Your vague hints at parting were utterly unintelligible to me. You left me quite in the dark, and allowed the truth to break upon me unawares."

George understood the reproach.

"Forgive me," he entreated earnestly. "It was entirely on your account that I was silent. I could not make a confidante of you--could not let you share in the knowledge of a project which was to turn against your guardian and host. Are you angry with me for what I have done? You little know how fierce were the struggles I went through before I could resolve on taking that step."

"It has brought you good luck!"--there was a singular, almost a scornful inflection in the girl's voice. "It has raised you from obscurity to fame at a stroke. Your name is now in everybody's mouth."

Winterfeld's handsome face clouded over.

"It troubles me sorely that my fame, as you call it, should spring from such a cause. I certainly never counted on this species of success. You surely do not doubt the truth of what I said to you at parting? You do not doubt me when I say that no personal feeling of revenge spurred me on against the Baron, that the pamphlet, of which you have heard, was commenced before we knew each other? I was prepared for the worst consequences, for I knew the adversary I was provoking. My position, probably my whole future, was at stake, but it had become necessary to cripple the tyrannical power of a man whom none ventured to defy. I resolved to attempt it, and I was ready to accept the issue, whatever it might be. But no matter ever took a more unexpected turn than this of mine. I have been shielded and supported, and the Governor's cause has been abandoned. I had no suspicion of the mighty current of opinion that had set in against him in those very circles where most I feared opposition."

He had spoken clearly and quietly, but there was in his eyes an uneasy, pained inquiry which his lips did not frame. He could not understand his love. She stood before him so cold and strange, giving no sign of sympathy. Not a word of tenderness fell from her now, on meeting him after a separation of weeks. Instead of holding the sweet converse natural to lovers on such an occasion, they were discussing things which once lay worlds apart from Gabrielle, but which now seemed to monopolise her interest. What could have happened to change her thus?

"One more question, George," she began again. "This last attack, this shameful calumny which the newspapers have published--have you had any part in this?"

"No; the sudden disclosure took me as much by surprise as anyone, and I do not know how it originated. I do not war with anonymous communications which refer to a long-bygone past. If I had wished to make use of these facts, the Governor's fall would long ago have been assured, for I knew them some months back."

"The facts!" broke out Gabrielle. "The whole story is a lie. How can you doubt it for an instant?"

"They are facts," said the young man, gravely, "I heard them from the mouth of a man who was reluctant enough to raise his voice against his former friend--I mean Max Brunnow's father."

"Whoever says it, I tell you it is calumny!" cried Gabrielle, with flashing eyes. "Arno is incapable of a dishonourable action; he never has committed one. He declares this tale to be false, and, though the whole world should be of one voice to accuse him, I will believe his word, and his alone!"

"Arno? You will believe him, and him alone?" repeated George, slowly. "What ... what does this mean?"

"Every one is deserting him now," Gabrielle went on, with passionate vehemence. "Troubles are coming upon him from all sides. While he was great and powerful, no one ventured to raise a finger against him; but since you gave the signal for the onset, he has been persecuted and slandered by all his enemies, and hounded, as they hoped, to his ruin. But, seeing that in spite of them all he holds his ground, they have recourse now to their last resource, and seek to wound him mortally in his honour. Oh, I know only too well why he sent me away! He divined what was coming; he wished to be alone in his fall!"

George had grown deadly pale. His eyes were fixed anxiously on the girl's fair face, all glowing with excitement. Her vehemence betrayed too much, and the young man's heart thrilled with a great dread. He felt that his dream of happiness was over.

"What has taken place between you and the Baron?" he asked. "It is not so that a girl defends her guardian, her relative. You might have spoken so of me, had I been exposed to any danger. What has happened during this separation of ours, Gabrielle? No, I cannot believe it. You cannot ... cannot love this Raven?"

She made no answer, but sank on to a chair, and, hiding her face in her hands, broke into loud and passionate weeping. For some minutes a direful silence reigned, broken only by Gabrielle's sobs. George stood motionless. This discovery came upon him too abruptly, too unexpectedly.

"It is so, then," he said at length, in a very low voice. "And he ... yes, now I understand his hatred of me, his fierce anger on hearing of our engagement. This is why he parted us so inexorably; this was why he took from me all hope of ever possessing you. That he would take your love itself from me, I never, never could have believed."

Gabrielle dried her tears, and rose.

"Forgive me, George. I feel how cruel a wrong I have done you, but I cannot help it. I did not know what love was when I gave you my promise. The knowledge came to me when I met Arno, and now it would be treachery to withhold the truth from you any longer. I fought against it, so long as it was possible to fight; yesterday even I doubted and vacillated. Then this news reached me, and all my doubts were at an end. I know now where my rightful place is, and nothing shall move me from it--but, first, I had to tell you all. Release me from that promise, I implore you. I cannot keep it."

The young man stood before her, rigid and pale with the fierce conflict of emotions.

"Was it for this you called me hither--to tell me this?"

"Yes," was the answer, hardly audible.

"You are free the instant you desire it," said George, with profound bitterness. "I swore to you that no power on earth should move me to renounce my hopes until I should hear from your own lips that you gave me up. I have heard it now. Good-bye."

He turned and walked to the door. Gabrielle rushed after him, and laid her hand on his arm.

"Do not go from me so, George. Say you forgive me. Do not part from me in ill-feeling and bitterness. I cannot bear that you should be angry with me."

It was the old sweet tone, which had so often worked with captivating power. It arrested the young man's steps even now, and as the lovely tear-bedewed face was raised to him with anxious pleading in the dark eyes, his wounded pride was silenced, and the deep affection of his heart welled up within him once more.

"Must I lose you?" he asked, in a voice tremulous with excessive emotion. "Think, Gabrielle, think--do not sacrifice our love, all our life's happiness so hastily. Raven's passion has misled and blinded you. He has the secret of drawing hearts to him as with a magic spell, but he would never, never make a woman happy. You, with your bright sunny temperament, would fade away by that man's side, would pine away and die. You do not know him, child; he is not worthy of your love."

Gabrielle gently freed herself from his embrace.

"Do you think it is my own happiness I am seeking? No; what I wish is to be at Arno's side when all are forsaking him, to share his fate--his disgrace, if it must be. That is the only happiness I look for, and of that, at least, no one shall deprive me!"

There was infinite, pathetic tenderness in her words. George's gaze rested sorrowfully, regretfully on the youthful creature who had so quickly learned all a woman's devotion and self-sacrifice. Thus, thus he had dreamily pictured to himself his Gabrielle, in those early days when he had set the joyous merry-hearted child on a pedestal and worshipped her as the ideal of his life! dreamily only, it must be owned, for there had been no true hope in his heart that she would ever soar to such a height. Now his ideal stood embodied before him; and now, in the self-same moment, he learned that she was lost to him for ever.

"Let us part, then," he said, calling up all his self-control. "You are right. With so absorbing a passion in your heart for another, you could not be my wife. After the avowal you have just made, I should have released you without any entreaty on your part. Do not weep, Gabrielle. I have no ill-feeling towards you; I reproach you with nothing. All my enmity is for him who has robbed me of you. You were the joy, the very life of my life. How I shall bear to live on, now that you have left me, I know not. Farewell."

He drew her to him once again, once again he pressed his lips to hers, and then hurried from the house he had entered with such high hopes, now all fatally shattered and wrecked. Gabrielle remained alone, weeping no longer, but with a dull unspeakable aching within her breast, a thrilling sense of pain and loss. She felt that, with George's love, the best and noblest part of her life had gone from her.