Riven Bonds. Vol. II. / A Novel, in Two Volumes

by E. Werner

CHAPTER III.

"Nothing," said Reinhold, recovering himself with a great effort. "I am not well; the stormy voyage has upset me. It is nothing, Cesario."

"I believe the best we can do is to think of our return," interrupted Hugo, who deemed it necessary to distract attention from his brother, as he saw that the latter could no longer control his agitation. "A repetition of the storm need not be feared, and as the padrone has promised to procure us a carriage, we can reach S---- this evening if we start soon."

It was the first time that Beatrice cordially agreed to any proposition made by Captain Almbach. Marchese Tortoni, on the contrary, considered any great haste very unnecessary, and raised several objections. All at once the lonely locanda seemed to have gained remarkable attractions for him. But as he could not succeed in his wishes--for Reinhold also insisted upon an immediate return--he joined Captain Almbach, who went to see about the carriage.

"I fear you made up some tale for your brother and me, when you declared that a certain villa was inaccessible," said he, teasingly. "It was suspicious at the time when you confessed your failure so openly, and let our jokes fall so quietly upon you. I could swear that I had seen this charming figure and those glorious fair plaits once before, when I rode past the villa. I understand, of course, that you would not make us the confidants of your adventure, still----"

"You are mistaken," interrupted Hugo, with a decision which made it impossible to doubt his words. "There is no talk of an adventure here, Signor Marchese. I give you my word upon it."

"Ah, then pardon me," said Cesario, seriously; "I believe your apparently intimate acquaintance with the lady----"

"Arises from a former acquaintance in Germany," completed Captain Almbach. "I certainly had no suspicion of this meeting, when I believed I was seeking a perfect stranger in the Villa Fiorina; but I repeat it, that the word 'adventure' must not be connected in the remotest degree with that lady, and that I claim the most perfect and unqualified respect for her from all."

The very positive tone of this explanation might, perhaps, have irritated another listener, but the young Marchese, on the contrary, seemed to find unmistakable satisfaction in it.

"I do not in the least doubt that you are quite justified in your demand," replied he, very warmly. "The whole bearing of the beautiful lady answers for it. What imposing dignity, and what a perfectly charming appearance! I never saw any woman unite the two so thoroughly."

"Really?" Hugo's voice betrayed by no means pleasant surprise, as he looked at his companion, whose cheeks were deeply suffused with colour, and whose eyes sparkled. Captain Almbach did not utter another word, but his countenance told plainly enough what he thought. "I believe this ideal-man also begins to care about other things besides airs and recitatives--however, it is quite unnecessary."

Beatrice stood alone up in the verandah. She had not followed Reinhold and Lord Elton, who also descended. Her hand buried itself unconsciously in the wet vine-leaves, while her dark eyes were fixed steadily on the sea. Lost in gloomy meditation, she only clung to the one thought, which her lips now uttered, as half threateningly, half frightened, she whispered----"What was it between them?"

Autumn had come, and brought strangers and inhabitants back from the seaside and mountains to the large ever stirring and bustling central point of Italy. It was indeed not such an autumn as leads nature to its grave in the North, with gloomy, rainy days, raw stormy nights, rolling mists, hoar and night frosts. Here it lay mildly in golden clearness and indescribable beauty over the wide plains, from which at last the summer's heat had subsided; over the mountains, which, at other times were day after day enveloped in hot vapour, encircled with white clouds, now again showed their blue outlines undisguised; and over the town, where the great wave of life which for several moons had rolled slowly, now flowed forth with renewed power.

Signora Biancona had also returned. Her stay in S---- had been as unexpectedly and quickly terminated as was Reinhold's in Mirando. He seemed as if, all at once, he could not endure his usually favourite place any longer. Almost immediately after their stormy sea excursion, he insisted positively that the original plan should be adhered to, and the villegiatura in the mountains, long since decided upon, be carried out. The Marchese's objections, even his openly-displayed annoyance--having counted upon a lengthy visit from his guests--were in vain, as Beatrice also agreed somewhat eagerly to Reinhold's plan, and thus Cesario remained alone in Mirando, while the others went to the mountains, from which they had now just returned.

It was during the forenoon. Signora Biancona was sitting in her boudoir, her head resting on her arm, and her hand buried in her dark hair, in an attitude of eager attention. The conductor, Gianelli, had taken up his position opposite to her. Whatever his real feelings towards the envied Rinaldo might be, he was much too clever not to show outwardly all necessary respect and consideration to him, who, in the world of art, as in society, was all-powerful; and towards the beautiful prima donna he was now all attention and devotion, which he showed in voice and manner, as, continuing the conversation already begun, he said--

"You had commanded, Signora, and that was sufficient for me at once to set all machinery in motion. I am fortunate in being able to fulfil your wish, and impart the fullest information upon a certain subject."

Beatrice lifted up her head with liveliest eagerness. "Well?"

"This Signor Erlau is, as you supposed, a merchant from H----. He must, indeed, belong to the richest of his class, as everywhere he appears like a millionaire. He has rented the entire Villa Fiorina, near S----, for himself and his family, and here, also, he inhabits one of the most expensive houses. His household is arranged in great style; part of the servants brought from Germany. He bears important introductions to his embassy, of which, however, he has not made any use as yet, because his state of health necessitates retirement. His move here, in fact, was only made in order to put himself under the treatment of one of our most celebrated doctors----"

"I know all that already," interrupted Beatrice, impatiently. "When I heard the name, I did not doubt that it was the same Consul at whose house I visited during my stay in H----. But the lady who accompanies them--the young Signora?"

"Is his niece," explained Gianelli, who made an intentional pause after the first words.

The singer appeared to consider. "She certainly was presented to me as Signora Erlau. A relation, therefore. I did not see her in those days. I surely should have remarked her; one does not so easily over look such a figure."

The maestro smiled with a malicious expression. "She is said to bear the same name, certainly, as her adopted father; she is said to be a widow--said to have lost her husband many years since. At least, they wish such to be believed in Italy, and the servants have strict orders to answer all enquiries in this manner."

Beatrice listened attentively to this explanation with its double meaning, "'Said to be;' but is it not so? I suspected that some secret lay hidden there. You have discovered it?"

"Servants are never silent, if one understands to apply in the right manner," remarked Gianelli, scornfully. "I only fear it is an extremely delicate point, and as it concerns Signor Rinaldo----"

"Rinaldo!" exclaimed Beatrice, "how so? What has Rinaldo to do with it? Did you not say that it concerns Rinaldo?"

The maestro bent his head, and said in his softest tone, "I was then, indeed mistaken, Signora, when I premised that the cause of your wish to learn more particulars about the Erlau family originated with Signor Rinaldo."

The singer bit her lips. She certainly might have foreseen that the motive which dictated the commission she had given him could not escape the observing eyes of a Gianelli.

"Let us leave Rinaldo out of the question!" said she, with an effort to appear calm. "You were about to speak of Signora Erlau."

"It would be somewhat difficult to separate one from the other," suggested Gianelli. "I only fear Signor Rinaldo is unfortunately not favourably disposed towards me already, certainly from no fault of mine. I fear I might arouse his extreme ill-will if he discovered it was I who made such a communication, and especially to you"--he paused, and drew figures on the floor with his walking stick, in well-feigned confusion.

"To me, especially!" repeated Beatrice, violently, "then this communication is not intended for me? You must speak, Signor Gianelli! You shall not withhold one word, not one syllable either! I require, I demand it of you."

"Well then----" he seemed really about to come to the explanation, but the game was too interesting to give it up so soon, and the maestro himself had too often suffered from the temper of the beautiful prima donna to be able to deny himself the satisfaction of keeping her still longer on the rack of eagerness.

"Well then, you surely are aware of Signor Rinaldo's former bonds; but in, Italy few or none know that he was already married. I myself was only informed of it on this occasion. You, of course, were acquainted with the fact."

"I know it," replied Beatrice, suppressedly, "but how does that concern this?"

"Indeed it does to some extent. You do not know Rinaldo's wife, Signora?"

"No. Though yes; I saw her once momentarily. A very insignificant person."

"They do not seem to think so, here," remarked Gianelli, again in the same soft tone. "Notwithstanding her seclusion, the beautiful fair German begins to create a sensation."

"Who?" Beatrice rose so suddenly and wildly, that the maestro thought it wiser to retire a few steps. "Of whom are you speaking?"

"Of Signora Eleonore Almbach, who certainly bears her adopted father's name here, probably to avoid inquisitive inquiries."

"That is impossible," exclaimed the singer, now with extreme violence. "That cannot be. You deceive me, or have been yourself deceived."

"Excuse me," said Gianelli, defending himself, "my source is the most authentic. I will answer for its correctness, and Signor Rinaldo will be obliged to confirm it."

"Impossible!" repeated Beatrice, still quite without her self-possession. "This apparition his wife! I saw her formerly, of course, although only for a few minutes. Was I then blind?"

"Or was he so?" completed Gianelli to himself; but he said aloud, "I am inconsolable to have excited you so, Signora; you will give me credit for not wishing to speak, but you regularly forced this information from me. I regret this exceedingly."

His words restored Beatrice somewhat to consciousness. She felt what she had to expect from the pity of the man who had played the spy on her behalf.

"Certainly not!" replied she in a hasty but vain attempt to recover her self-control. "I--I thank you, Signor. I am merely surprised, nothing more."

The maestro saw that he could not do better than retire, but as he prepared to leave, he laid his hand assuringly upon his heart--

"You know, Signora, that I am quite at your commands, and if you deem it necessary to insist upon my unconditional silence in this affair, no assurance is needed that this also is at your service. Quite at your commands."

He left the room with a low bow; he was in earnest with the last words. Gianelli was too good a reckoner not to consider as a valuable secret, something which sooner or later might be employed against the hated Rinaldo. If he were to make the piquant story public in society, nothing more could be done with it; in his sole possession, on the contrary, it might be very useful. At present it ensured him influence over Beatrice, and, indirectly, even over Rinaldo, to whom it could, at the very least, not be agreeable that his family affairs should become generally known.

In the best of humours the maestro passed through the saloon, and entered the antechamber, where at that moment the sailor Jonas was alone. Captain Almbach had sent him to his brother with some message; he supposed the latter to be with Signora Biancona. Reinhold, however, was at the manager's, but was expected every moment. Jonas learned this from some servant who had gone into Beatrice's service from that of the same manager who had taken the Italian Opera Company to Germany, and as a trophy of his northern journey was able to maltreat a few words of German. As the sailor had received orders to give his master's note to the latter's brother himself, nothing else remained for him than to wait; he therefore took up his position in the ante-room, through which Reinhold was sure to pass. He had certainly remarked that the door of one of the back rooms stood open, and that some one was in there, apparently one of the Signora's lady's maids, who was occupied with a dress of her mistress. However, as this somebody was a woman, she naturally did not exist for Jonas, who, dissatisfied and silent as usual, withdrew into one of the window recesses, and remained there above a quarter of an hour without taking the slightest notice of his neighbour.

Signor Gianelli, as regards women, seemed to entertain the most opposite views; he had barely discovered the open door and the young girl, before he immediately altered his course, and steered in that direction. Jonas naturally did not understand any of the conversation, conducted in Italian, which now took place between the two, but so much was clear to him, that the maestro endeavoured to play the agreeable, apparently without particular success, as he only received short, and rather defiant-sounding replies, and at the same time the heavy silken folds were so adroitly draped that he could not come nearer without crumpling the light satin. This lasted a few minutes, then Signor Gianelli appeared to try and make some serious attempt, as a cry of annoyance was heard, followed by the angry stamping of a little foot. The dress flew aside, and the young girl fled into the ante-room, where she stood still with arms folded defiantly and eyes sparkling with rage. But the maestro had followed her, and without being intimidated in the least by the opposition, gave signs of trying to enforce the kiss which evidently had been refused him before, when he stumbled upon a most unexpected obstacle. A powerful hand caught him suddenly by the collar, and a strange voice said impressively--

"That is to be left alone."

At the first moment the Italian appeared staggered at this interruption from a stranger whom he had not perceived at all; but on looking more closely at the latter, and discovering that he had only a common sailor to deal with, he drew himself up with great self-importance and evinced great annoyance. He immediately reversed the order of affairs, and pretended to be the one insulted. How could any one dare to attack a man in his position, especially in Signora Biancona's apartments; he should lay a complaint to the Signora; what sort of a person was it who took such a liberty? and thereupon a flood of not exactly flattering names swept over poor Jonas.

The latter endured the insults heaped upon him with immovable placidity, as he did not understand even one word of them; but when the Italian, deceived by this quiescence, took it into his head to make a threatening gesticulation with his stick, there was an end of the sailor's calm, as he understood this pantomime very well. With a sudden movement he had caught the stick from the maestro, the next moment had seized him and regularly thrust him out of the room, thrown his stick after him, and locked the door, all without speaking a single word, and returned quietly to his window recess as if nothing had happened. But here the young girl came at once towards him, stretching out both hands to him, with southern vivacity and overflowing with gratitude.

"It is not necessary! Was done willingly," said Jonas, dryly, but as he put out his arm as if to refuse her thanks, a little hand was placed upon it, and a clear voice said something in the softest tones, which was undoubtedly intended to express her acknowledgments.

Jonas looked most indignantly, first at his arm, then at the hand, which still lay upon it, and after having gazed at both for some time, he condescended at last to cast a glance also at the person to whom the hand belonged.

Before him stood a young girl of at most sixteen years, so lythe, so intensely slight and graceful a figure, that she presented the greatest contrast imaginable to the broad form of the sailor. A wreath of splendid blue-black plaits surrounded the little face, which, with its dark brown complexion and burning black eyes, certainly sprang from the South of Italy. The little one was pretty, without doubt very pretty, that could not be denied, and the liveliness with which she endeavoured to show her protector how very grateful she was rendered her still more charming.

"Yes, if I only understood the cursed language!" muttered Jonas, in whom, for the first time, something like regret arose that he had thrown away, with such obstinate determination, the rare opportunity offered him during the summer of learning Italian. He shook his head, shrugged his shoulders, and in this way made pantomimic signs that he did not understand Italian, which the young girl seemed to think quite unheard of and also very disagreeable.

"I was to find Mr. Reinhold," growled Jonas, who, strange to say, seemed to long to impart some information, which was not usually his case with women. He made the discovery, however, that even this name was not understood, as now it became his companion's turn to shake her head and shrug her shoulders.

"Yes, indeed," said the sailor angrily, "he could not even retain his honest German name! Rinaldo he lets himself be called here--God have pity on him! Robbers and rogues are called by such names with us at home. Signor Rinaldo," exclaimed he, as he drew out his master's note, which bore the same name. This address was of course well enough known in Signora Biancona's house; any farther understanding was now, however, unnecessary, as just at the moment when the two were bending their heads eagerly over the letter, the door of the ante-room was opened and Reinhold himself entered.

The young girl remarked him first. In one moment she was away from the sailor's side and in the middle of the room, where she made a graceful curtsy and then disappeared in the direction of the saloon, probably to announce the long-expected one to her mistress; while Jonas, who could not conceive how any person could fly away thus lightly and rapidly, and disappear tracelessly in a few seconds, stared after her so steadily that Reinhold was obliged to go up to him and ask what brought him there. Ashamed, and somewhat confused, he delivered his errand and gave up the note, which Almbach opened and read rapidly. The contents seemed to be very indifferent to him--

"Tell my brother I am engaged already for to-day, and therefore beg him to accept the Marchese's invitation merely for himself. If possible at all, I shall appear towards evening."

He put the note in his pocket, dismissed the messenger by a gesture, and passed into the saloon. Jonas now had his orders and ought to have returned home; instead, however, he sought the servant who had given him the required information before, and the latter made the discovery that the inaccessible sailor, so chary of words, had all at once become very inquisitive, as he enquired very particularly about Signora Biancona's household and its personnel. and tolerated the Italian's horrible German--who was so proud of his knowledge of the language--with exemplary patience.

Reinhold, meanwhile, had entered the boudoir. He no longer required any announcement to its mistress, and she came towards him at once; but had he not been so entirely absorbed in other thoughts he must have seen at the first glance that something had happened to her. The Italian's dark warm colouring could appear pale at times; this was evident now, when the glowing blood which usually throbbed in her cheeks had disappeared to the very last drop; but it was an unnatural pallor, and her eyes burned all the more scorchingly. Beatrice was actress enough to be able, for a few moments at least, to control her temper when it was required to gain some object, and she wished to obtain one to-day. A trait of dark determination lay in her face; she wished to see clearly at any price.

"I met Gianelli below in the street," began Reinhold, after the first greeting. "He appeared to come from your house; was he with you?"

"Certainly! I know you are prejudiced against him, but I cannot possibly decline to see the conductor of the opera, when he comes on purpose to discuss something as to its performance with me."

Reinhold shrugged his shoulders. "That could be done at the rehearsals. Are you a young beginner, who requires protection, and must fear offending any one? I should have thought that you, in your position, could behave with as little consideration as I do. However, I will give you no directions about it. Receive whom you will, even Gianelli! I am far from wishing to place any control upon you."

The tone sounded icy, and Beatrice's voice trembled slightly as she replied, "That is new to me. You used to watch over my visitors most despotically; formerly no one could cross my threshold who was not agreeable to you."

Reinhold had thrown himself into a seat. "You see I have become more tolerant."

"More tolerant!--more indifferent."

"You have often enough complained of my despotism," remarked he, with a slight tinge of sarcasm.

"And yet I bore it because I knew it sprang from love. It is only natural that with the one the other should also cease."

Reinhold made an impatient movement. "Beatrice you demand what is impossible, when you require that a human heart should ever and for ever glow with those volcanic feelings which alone you call love."

She had approached his seat, and placed her hand on its back, while she looked down at him with a strange expression.

"I see certainly that it is impossible to require from the cold heart of a Northerner such love as I give and demand."

"You should have left him in his north," said Reinhold, gloomily; "perhaps the cold there would have been better for him than the everlasting glow of the south."

"Is that intended for a reproach? Was it I who tore you from your home?"

"No! I went voluntarily, but--be just, Beatrice!--you were the moving power. Who urged me constantly to the resolution? Who held my artist's course again and again before my eyes? Who dubbed me a coward as I started back at the responsibility, and at last placed the fatal choice before me of flight or our separation? Excuse me--you knew how the decision must fall."

The Italian's dark eyes flashed threateningly, but she forced herself to be calm.

"Our love depended on it," declared she, proudly; "our love depended on it, and your artist's career. I rescued a genius for the world when I rescued you for myself."

He was silent. The defence appeared to find no echo in his heart. She bent lower to him, and her voice sounded sweet and fascinating again, but the unnatural expression did not leave her features.

"You are dreaming, Rinaldo. This is one of your moods again, which I have so often had to fight against. Is it the first time then, that an unhappy, unsuitable marriage has been dissolved in order to form a happier union?"

Reinhold leaned his head on his hand. "No, certainly not; but that does not affect this case; my marriage has not been dissolved, and we--have never thought of marriage."

Beatrice started, and her hand slid from the back of the chair.

"You were not free?" she murmured.

"It would only have cost me one word to be so. I knew I should not be prevented, and means enough were open to you to obtain dispensation, which would have permitted a Catholic to make this marriage. But we both dreaded the indissoluble bond; we wished to be free and unfettered, without limits in our love as in our life--well, we are so still at this moment."

"What do you mean by this?" Beatrice pressed her hand upon her heart as if breathless. "Do you still consider your marriage to exist?"

"Oh, no, certainly not; and if I did, the daring of such an idea would soon be made plain to me. You do not know what an offended wife and mother is in the pride of her virtue. If the sinner were to devote his whole remaining life to penance and repentance, he would still not be restored to favour."

The words were intended to sound scoffingly; he did not suspect the boundless bitterness they betrayed as he hurled them forth; but Beatrice understood it only too well, and with this recognition, her self-control, so far preserved with such difficulty, broke down irretrievably.

"You have, perhaps, tried it already with the offended wife," cried she furiously. "She is in your neighbourhood; I myself was witness of your meeting. That is why your eyes encountered each other in so mysterious a manner; that is why you could not tear your gaze away from the child; that is why she drew back from me, as if from something unholy. Have you attempted the penitent scene already, Rinaldo?"

Reinhold had sprung up; anger and astonishment struggled in his countenance. "So you know already who Signora Erlau is? But why do I ask! The spy, this Gianelli, has just left you; he has traced it out and communicated it to you."

A dark look passed over the singer's features for a moment, as she remembered the distinct commission she had given to the spy, but in her inward excitement shame found no place.

"You knew it in Mirando," continued she violently, "and she occupies the Villa Fiorina close by. Will you try to make me believe you had not seen each other before, not spoken?"

"I do not wish to try and make you believe anything," said Reinhold coldly. "How I stand to Eleonore, our utterly estranged meeting must have shown you sufficiently. Calm yourself. You have nothing to dread from that side. What else has taken place between me and my wife I shall not confess to you."

A slight, but yet perceptible tone of contempt lay on the two words, and it seemed to be understood.

"It appears you place me below your wife," said Beatrice weeping. "Below the woman whose only merit was and is that of being the mother of your child; who never----"

"Pray, leave that alone!" interrupted he, with decision. "You know I never permit you to touch upon that point, and now I shall endure it less than ever. If you must get up a scene for me, do it, but leave my wife and child out of the drama."

It was as if his words had let a storm loose, so raging, so unmeasured did the Italian's passion now break forth, dragging every trace of self-control along with it.

"Your wife and your child!" repeated she, beside herself. "Oh, I know what these words signify to me; I must experience it often enough. Have they not forced themselves between us from the first moment of our meeting until to-day? To them I owe every bitter hour, every strange emotion in your heart. They have lain upon you like a shadow, amidst the growth of your artist's renown, amidst all your conquests and triumphs; as if they had cursed you there in the north, with the recollection of them, you could not tear your self away from them; and yet there was a time when they were the oppressive fetters which separated you from life and future--which you must break at last!"

"To exchange them for others," completed Reinhold, whose violence now burst forth, "and the question is, are these others lighter? There, it was only the outward circumstances which confined me; my thoughts, feelings and actions were at all events free. You would fain see these, also like myself, without a will, at your feet, and that you could not attain this, or at least not always, I have had to atone for by hours of endless excitement and bitterness. Your love would have made any other man into your slave. Me it forced to stand in constant opposition to your love of ruling, which tried to take possession of every innermost thought and feeling. But I should have thought, Beatrice, that you had hitherto found in me your master, who knew how to preserve his own independence, and would not allow his whole being and nature to be clasped in chains."

The storm had now been called up. Henceforth there was no restraint, no more moderation; at least not for Beatrice, whose passion foamed out ever wilder.

"I must hear that, too, from the lips of the man who so often called me his muse? Have you forgotten who it was who first awoke you to the knowledge of your talents and of yourself; who alone led you up to the sun's height of fame? Without me, the admired Rinaldo would have succumbed under the fetters which he did not dare to break."

She did not realise how deeply her reproach must wound his pride as a man. Reinhold was roused, but not with that haughtiness which, until now, too often darkened his character; this time it was a proud, energetic self-consciousness with which he drew himself up.

"That he never would. Do you think so little of my talent, that you believe it could only force open its path with you, and through you? Do you think I should not have found my way alone, not alone have swung myself up to the present height? Ask my works about it! They will give you the reply. I should have gone sooner or later. That I went with you, became my doom, as that broke every bond between me and home, and also drew me upon paths which the man as well as the composer had better have avoided. For years you kept me in the intoxication of a life which never offered me even one hour's real contentment or true happiness, because you knew that when once I awoke your power would be all at an end. You might postpone it, hinder it never--the awaking came late, too late, perhaps; but still it came at last."

Beatrice leaned upon the marble chimney-piece by which she stood; her whole body trembled as with fever; this hour showed her indeed what she had long felt, without wishing to acknowledge to herself--that her power was in truth at an end.

"And who do you think shall be the sacrifice to this 'awaking?'" said she in a hollow voice. "Take care, Rinaldo! You forsook your wife, and she bore it patiently--I shall not bear it. Beatrice Biancona does not allow herself to be sacrificed."

"No, she would rather sacrifice." Reinhold stepped before her and looked her firmly in the face. "You would plant the dagger--is it not true, Beatrice?--in yourself or me, all alike, if only your revenge were cooled? And if I seized the weapon from your hand, and returned repentant to you, you would open your arms to me again. You are right, Eleonore bore it more patiently; not a word, not a reproach restrained me, the cry of anguish was smothered in her heart. I did not hear even one sound of it; but at the moment in which I left her, I was the one rejected--my return was shut out for ever. And if I came to her now, in all the brilliancy of my fame and success--if I laid laurels, gold, honour, everything at her feet, and myself also--it would be in vain; she would not forgive me."

He broke off, as if he had said too much already. Beatrice did not reply one word; not a sound came from her lips; only her eyes spoke a gloomy, unnatural language; but Reinhold did not understand it this time, or would not understand it.

"You see this separation is irretrievable," said he, more quietly. "I repeat it, you have nothing to fear from that side. It was you, not I, who provoked this scene. It is not well to awaken the ghosts of the past--at least not between us. Let them rest."

He left her and went into the adjoining room, where he busied himself with the music lying on the piano, or seemed to busy himself with it, to escape further conversation.

"Let them rest!" that was said so gloomily, so quietly, and yet it sounded like scorn from his lips. Could he not even banish the ghosts of the past? And he demanded it of the woman who saw menaced by them what she deemed to be her highest good, her love for him, which, notwithstanding all that had passed between Rinaldo and herself in the course of years, still clung to him with all the strength of her inward being; whose glowing, passionate nature had in love as in hate never known any bounds. Whoever saw Beatrice now, as she raised herself slowly, and gazed after him, must have known that she would not let them rest, nor would she rest herself; and Reinhold should have considered, when he opposed her so defiantly, that he did not stand alone against her revenge any longer, and that in this hour he had betrayed, only too well, by which means she could strike a deadly blow. The glances of evil token which flashed there did not menace him, but something else which he was unable to protect, because the right to do so was denied him--his wife and child!