CHAPTER VIII.
The passionate woman did indeed not act upon any plan or calculation when she seized upon this last extreme means of cooling her revenge. Her appearance in the Erlau's garden entirely concerned her hated rival. She did not find Ella, but instead found the boy alone, without supervision; and the idea, as well as the execution of his abduction, were the work of a moment. At first the child willingly followed the beautiful stranger, who drew it caressingly towards her, and when he commenced to become frightened, and asked to be taken back to his mother, it was already too late. Beatrice never thought of the possible consequences of her step when she carried her prey away triumphantly; she only felt that no stroke from a dagger could hit Ella's heart so deeply and certainly as the loss of her child, and that this loss would raise an everlasting barrier between the parents. It was this which she had wished. But now she must see how to ensure the booty. Gianelli must give his hand to aid the flight so hastily undertaken.
Now more than a day's journey lay already between the child and its parents; but they must make a halt some time; some time this aimless, planless flight must come to an end.
The vengeance had succeeded beyond expectation--what now?
Little Reinhold still slept. Had he only borne his father's features, perhaps that had preserved him from all ill; but this golden fair hair, this rosy countenance, and those deep blue eyes--just now closed, to be sure--all belonged to the mother--the woman whom Beatrice hated as she had never yet hated anything in the world, and this likeness was ominous to the sleeping child. The burning eyes of his companion rested for some minutes fixedly on his face; then she suddenly started as if frightened at her own thoughts, tore her gaze away from the boy, and turned aside.
Yonder, up above, she beheld the carriage which was following theirs. A travelling carriage was very rare on this road, and it came in the same direction--came with the greatest speed. Beatrice guessed at once what it meant. So her track was already betrayed, and the pursuers were at her heels--let them, indeed! She felt herself to be all-powerful so long as she had the child in her hands.
Rising quickly, she ordered the coachman to lash the horses to their greatest pace. He obeyed, and now commenced a wild race between the two carriages. More than once the powerful animals could hardly keep up, more than once the drag threatened to break and overturn the occupants. None paid any attention to it, and promises of excessive rewards spurred the two drivers on to scorn any danger. It was a furious, reckless drive; rocks and ravines seemed to fly past on both sides; ever higher rose the mountainous wall, the more the road descended; ever nearer rushed the river; yet the four-in-hand had undeniably the best of it. Both carriages now rolled down the valley, but the space between them was diminished every moment--a few hundred yards, and the fugitives would be overtaken.
The first vehicle thundered across the bridge which here united the two banks. Beyond, it suddenly stopped. Beatrice herself had given the order to do so; she saw that now no evasion, no escape was possible, she must be prepared for extremities. The carriage stood close to the edge of the river, which shot along with intense rapidity. Slowly Beatrice opened the door, while with her left hand she grasped little Reinhold, whom the mad gallop had awoke, and who gazed affrighted into the foaming, raging waves which rushed past close below him. He did not know how near his parents were. Now the second carriage had reached the bridge, and the moment Ella beheld her child all consideration and recollection were at an end. She forgot Reinhold's warning not to show herself, to leave the decisive step alone to him; and bent far out of the door.
"Reinhold!" resounded across--it was a cry of inexpressible, trembling fear. The child cried out as it recognised its mother, and stretched both arms to her. Weeping noisily, it tried to go to her: but this sight was its ruin. Beatrice had become white as a corpse when she saw the husband and wife side by side. Together, then! What should have separated had united them, and if in the next moment Reinhold reached the fugitive, and tore his son from her, they would be bound together for ever, and for the forsaken one there would only remain contempt or revenge.
But the choice was already made. A single step, quick as lightning towards the stream, decided all. Beatrice had not loosed her hold of the child, and with the strength of despair drew it down with her into the flood of death.
A scene of indescribable confusion followed this horrible deed. The drivers of both carriages had sprung down from their seats and ran objectlessly up and down the banks; they did not even attempt to give any succour, which was only possible at the sacrifice of their own lives. Ella stood on the bridge; she wanted to cast herself in after those whom she could not rescue; but better help was at hand. She saw the waves splash up high as her dearest disappeared amidst them--saw how these waves also closed the next moment over her husband's head. Reinhold had thrown himself in immediately after his child, which, in the fall, had torn itself away from Beatrice, and now re-appeared at some little distance. Moments of agony ensued, in comparison with which all previous suffering was but play. For Ella, life and death were struggling together in these foaming, hissing waves, with which the two bodies fought, the one helpless, almost powerless to resist, the other toiling fiercely to the one point which at last he attained. The father grasped his child, drew it to himself, and strove to reach the shore with him. Now he planted his foot upon the rocky ground, now he seized the overhanging rocky points on which to support himself; and now, too, the mother regained power and motion. She rushed to both. Slowly Reinhold mounted the cliff; his breast heaved with fearful exertion; his arms bled, wounded by the sharp stones to which he had held, but these arms encircled his boy whom he clasped against his heart for the first time for years, and sinking down half-unconsciously, he placed the child in its mother's arms.
"Then this is really and irrevocably to be a farewell visit?" asked Consul Erlau of Captain Almbach, who sat near him. "Your departure comes very suddenly and unexpectedly. What will your brother, what will Eleonore, say to it? Both calculated quite positively upon keeping you here a few weeks longer."
On Hugo's usually light brow there lay a shadow to-day, and on his features a strange, bitter expression, as he replied--
"You will soon reconcile yourselves to the parting. Reinhold will not feel my absence in the constant society of wife and child; and Ella--" he broke off suddenly. "Consider it as being all for the best, Herr Consul. They will both be far too much occupied with each other and their newly-recovered happiness to ask after me."
"Yes, indeed," rejoined the Consul, "and the greatest loser in this reconciliation am I. For years I have looked upon Eleonore as my child, have considered her and the little one as my indisputable property; and now, all at once, her husband makes good his so-called rights and takes them both from me, without my being able to raise any objection to it. I do not understand Eleonore, that she has pardoned him so readily."
"Well, it was not done so very readily," said Hugo gravely. "He met with resistance enough, and I hardly believe ha would ever have overcome it without that catastrophe which finally came to their assistance. He bought the reconciliation with his child's rescue. Ella would have been no wife and mother if she had turned away from him then, when he laid her boy, uninjured, in her arms. That moment atoned for all, and you know as well as I that saving the child nearly cost the father's life."
"Yes, certainly, he could do nothing more sensible than become dangerously ill after the affair," grumbled Erlau, who decidedly seemed to be in a very uncharitable mood. "That was enough to call Ella to his side at once, from which she was not to be removed again, and he very wisely would not let her leave him. One knows all that. Danger and fear, care and tenderness without end! You surely do not require me to rejoice over this reconciliation? I wish we had left this Italian journey alone, then I should have kept my Eleonore, and Herr Reinhold could have continued his genial, romantic artist's life here. That would have been perfectly right for me."
"You are unjust," said Hugo reproachfully.
"And you out of sorts," added Erlau. "I do not understand exactly what has happened to you Herr Captain; your brother is out of danger, your sister-in-law amiability itself, the little one has attached himself most tenderly to you, but your cheerfulness seems quite to have left you since everything has been swimming in love and peace around us. You play no jokes upon any one, you annoy no one with your teasings and nonsense, one hardly ever hears a word of fun from you. I fear something has got into your head, or even your heart."
Hugo laughed loudly but somewhat forcedly.
"Why not, indeed! I can no longer bear to remain such a time on shore, and give up the sea. This inactivity of months wearies me. Thank God, it is coming to an end at last. Early to-morrow I depart, and in a few more days I shall be out on the waves again."
"And then we all fly apart quite prettily to every point of the compass," said the Consul, who still could not get the better of his irritation. "You sail to the West Indies, your brother and Eleonore will also leave; I go back to H----, a most pleasant solitude which awaits me there at home! Herr Reinhold certainly was gracious enough to promise me that I should see his wife and child from time to time. From time to time! As if that could satisfy me, after having had her about me every moment for years. Of course, now the husband and father must decide about it! I am convinced he will never let her leave him for a week; he is just as overwhelming in his tenderness as he once was in his carelessness."
It almost seemed as if the subject of the conversation were painful to Captain Almbach, as he broke it off quickly by rising and taking leave of the Consul heartily, but yet rather curtly and hastily. Erlau evidently saw him go with regret, as however great was the prejudice which he entertained against Reinhold, he was as decidedly prepossessed in Hugo's favour, and if the latter had been the repentant prodigal, the Consul would have regarded the reconciliation with a much more favourable eye than he did now where every feeling of justice was lost in the pain of the impending separation from his favourite. It only slightly consoled the old gentleman that he took his restored health home with him; his house appeared very desolate to him now, and he sighed deeply as the door closed after his guest.
Hugo, in the meantime, returned to his brother's abode which he still shared. His room, in consequence of the preparations for his departure, was in the greatest disorder already. He had ordered Jonas to pack up, and put all ready for the early morning, and the sailor had partly obeyed these directions, as the boxes stood open on the floor, and the travelling requisites lay about on the table and chairs.
But there seemed to be no talk of packing at present, as Jonas sat quite calmly on the lid of the large travelling chest, and near him little Annunziata, whom he had probably called to help him in this difficult business. The conversation between them, notwithstanding the young Italian's very defective knowledge of German, was in full course, and Jonas had also placed his arm, unabashed, round her waist, and was just in the act of stealing a kiss from her, which did not seem to be the first, and most likely would not have been the last, if Hugo's appearance had not put an end to any farther confidential arrangements.
The couple started up, alarmed at the unexpected opening of the door. Annunziata recovered herself first. She fled with a slight exclamation past Captain Almbach into the ante-room, where she disappeared and left the explanation of the situation to her companion. Jonas however, transfixed from fright, and stiff as a statue, stood without moving, looking at his master, who now entered completely and shut the door behind him.
"Do you call that packing the boxes?" asked he. "Then you have gone so far happily with your exercise of pity?"
Jonas sighed deeply--
"Yes, Herr Captain, I am so far," replied he, resignedly.
The confession was made with such comical humiliation, that Hugo had difficulty to suppress a smile; still he said with a grave face--
"Jonas, I never thought to experience such things in you. It is only lucky that you are a man of principles, which will not allow you to let such follies become serious. Principles before everything! Our 'Ellida,' lies ready to sail; to-morrow we start for the harbour, and when we return from the West Indies, you will have driven this love story out of your head, and Annunziata in the meanwhile will have taken another--"
"She will leave that alone," cried Jonas furiously. "I will kill her and myself too if she does anything of the kind."
"Will you not extend the killing to me also?" asked Hugo coolly. "You seem to be quite in the humour for it. You have gone so far as kissing, that is certain. I have actually witnessed with my own eyes how seaman William Jonas, of the 'Ellida,' has kissed a woman, and I should have thought that with this fact, enough to set one's hair on end, all would have stopped."
"Preserve us," said Jonas, defiantly. "That is only the beginning--then comes the marrying."
"Will you marry too?" asked Captain Almbach, in a tone of most intense indignation. "You will marry a woman? But consider, Jonas, that women are to blame for everything, that all mischief in the world originated with them, that a man only has peace and quiet when far from them, that--"
"Herr Captain," replied the sailor, who contrary to all respect, interrupted his master in the middle of his speech, as he heard his own words from the other's lips--
"Herr Captain, I was an idiot."
"Oh! your Annunziata seems to have inspired you with much self-knowledge already, and that is the more admirable as language in your conversation plays a very inferior part. Your chosen one speaks German thoroughly badly, and you have not caught much more Italian than merely her name. To be sure I saw just now how capitally you managed to help yourselves. Your conjugation of 'amare.' if not quite grammatical, was extremely comprehensible."
"Yes, indeed, we know how to help ourselves," said Jonas, full of self-consciousness. "We understand each other however always, and on the main point we understand each other at once. I like her, she will have me, and we shall marry each other."
"And so it ends!" finished Hugo. "And how about our departure, amid these suitable arrangements?"
"I shall still go to the West Indies, Herr Captain," answered Jonas eagerly. "We cannot marry in quite so head-over-heel a fashion, and my bride will meanwhile remain with young Frau Almbach, who has promised to take care of her. When I return, however, Annunziata thinks my seafaring must end. She thinks when she takes a husband that he must stay with her also, and not sail about for years on all kinds of seas. We could set up a little public house in some place, where I should not be so far from the ocean, and should always meet with my comrades, Annunziata thinks."
"Your Annunziata seems to think a great deal," remarked Captain Almbach, "and you naturally submit like a converted woman-hater and obedient bridegroom to this opinion of your 'future.' Then on this voyage, the 'Ellida' is to have the honour of counting you amongst her crew? Afterwards she must look out for another sailor and I for another servant?"
"Yes, afterwards," said Jonas, somewhat shamefacedly. "If--if you do not also--Herr Captain--you had better marry too."
"Don't come to me with your proposals!" cried Hugo, jumping up angrily. "I should have thought it would be sufficient at present, that you come under petticoat-government. Now, pack my boxes and take leave of your Annunziata! As we start very early tomorrow, I--have also still to take leave."
The last words sounded so peculiarly forced, that Jonas looked up astonished. He knew that it was not his master's wont to let farewells in any place be hard for him, and yet he fancied that this one made Hugo's heart right heavy. Fortunately the sailor was in similar plight; therefore he did not trouble much about it, but set to work to pack, while Hugo went across to the rooms which his sister-in-law inhabited now. He stood motionless for a few moments before the closed door, as if he did not dare to enter; then all at once, as if with sudden determination, he put his hand on the latch and opened it.
Ella sat at her writing table. She was alone, and in the act of closing a letter she had just concluded, when her brother-in-law entered, and came quickly to her.
"Have you announced your return to Germany?" asked he, pointing to the letter. "Herr Consul Erlau will make all H---- rebellious with his despair at being obliged to return without you and the little one."
Ella laid her pen aside and rose. "I am sorry that uncle should feel our parting so much," replied she; "I have already tried my utmost to procure a substitute, and by letter begged one of his relations to take my place in his house now that other duties call me. His wish for us to accompany him to H----, and for us to live with him for a time, I could not agree to on Reinhold's account. We have once already given society there cause to busy themselves about us; if we return now, there would be no end to the painful curiosity and interest, and Reinhold still so much needs consideration. He cannot bear the slightest allusion to the past as yet, without exciting himself dangerously. We must certainly seek another quieter residence."
"At all events, it is fortunate that you have decided him to return to Germany at all," said Hugo; "he has been estranged from home long enough, both as regards his life and his musical labours. It is time that he should at last take root in his fatherland."
Ella smiled. "You preach that to me and him daily, and yourself long restlessly to go far away? Confess it now, Hugo, you can hardly wait for the day of your departure, and it is difficult enough for you to endure the few weeks you still have with us."
"The difficulty is removed already," said Hugo, with feigned unconcern, "I leave tomorrow."
"To-morrow?" cried Ella, half-astonished, half-alarmed. "But you promised, though, to remain until our departure."
Captain Almbach bent low over the papers and writing materials on the table, as if searching for something amongst them.
"Things have changed since then, and I have received news from the 'Ellida' which calls me away at once. You know that with us sailors that sort of thing often happens quickly and unexpectedly. I was just going to tell you and Reinhold of it, and bid you farewell at the same time, as I must start early in the morning."
He had poured it all out hastily, without looking up. Ella's eyes were fixed gravely and searchingly upon his face.
"Hugo, that is an excuse," said she, decidedly; "you have received no news, at least, none so urgent. What has occurred? Why will you go?"
"You interrogate me like a criminal judge," said Hugo, jokingly, with an attempt to regain the old cheerful tone. "Be prudent, Ella! you have to deal with a confirmed sinner, who will indeed confess nothing."
"Yes; I see that something has happened to drive you away," said Ella, uneasily, "and for long I have known that something has come between us which estranges you from Reinhold and me more every day. Be candid, Hugo. What have you against us? Why will you forsake us now?"
She had gone closer to him, and laid her hand upon his arm beseechingly, but perfectly unembarrassed. Captain Almbach's countenance was intensely pale, as he looked silently on the ground; at last he slowly raised his eyes.
"Because I can bear it no longer," he broke out with sudden violence; "I have urged your reconciliation with Reinhold so long, and now that it has taken place, and I must look on at it daily, hourly--now only I feel how little talent I have for being a saint or for platonic friendship. I must go away if I do not wish to be ruined. My God, Ella, do not look at me as if an abyss were opened out before you! Have you really had no conception, then, of the state of mind I am in, and what these last weeks at your side have cost me?"
Ella had shrunk back at these last words, her pallor and the expression of deadly fear in her face gave an answer, even before she opened her lips to reply.
"No, Hugo, I had no conception of it," replied she, in a trembling voice. "When we first met, I felt myself obliged to repel a fleeting fancy. That it could ever be serious with you, I never deemed possible."
"Nor I either," said Hugo, glumly. "At the beginning, I too, believed I could laugh and scoff away this feeling--scoff it away like all others; and now it has become earnest, such bitter earnest, that I was on the high road to learn to hate my brother, to loathe the whole world, until the latter part of my time here became a hell--perhaps it will be better out on the sea, perhaps not either. But go I must, the sooner the better."
Something so wild, so passionate lay in those words, and Hugo's whole manner betrayed so plainly the difficulty with which he had suppressed his internal agony, that Ella found no courage for a harsh reply. She turned silently away. After a few moments Captain Almbach again came to her side.
"Do not turn from me, Ella, as from a criminal!" said he, with returning gentleness. "I am going, perhaps never to return, and the hour of my confession is also that of my farewell. I might, indeed, have spared you it, should not have made your heart heavy too with what oppresses mine. God knows I had the honest intention of being silent, and bear it until I had departed; but after all, one is but mortal, and when you begged me to remain, and looked so kindly at me, there was an end of my self-control. Reinhold himself prophesied that I should some day meet those eyes which would put a stop to all scoffing, all thoughtlessness. The only misfortune was, that I must find them in his wife. If this were not so, I had better have bid adieu to all freedom and independence for these eyes' sake, have become a quiet, steady married man, and have denied my whole nature; but it would have been a pity for old Hugo Almbach after all--therefore, probably Heaven raised an obstacle, and said 'No.'"