CHAPTER LII.
The storm had increased in violence during the afternoon. It roamed in the forest, dashed among the open heights and chased the clouds over the sky with increasing wrath. It raged with full force around that forest height which had once witnessed such a significant encounter between two people, but the man who leaned there now alone and lonely at the trunk of a tree did not seem to feel it, for he stood immovable in the midst of it.
Hartmut's face was deathly pale; a stony, unnatural calm rested upon it, and the sparkle of the eyes had died out, while the hair fell heavy and damp over his brow. The storm had torn his hat from his head; he had noticed it as little as the rain which drenched him.
He had found himself at this place after hours of roaming through the forest--here, where a remembrance drew him unconsciously. It was the right place for his purpose.
The news which had been looked for so feverishly had finally come; no letter; nothing but a few lines without any preface, and with only the signature, "Egon--Prince Adelsberg." But in these lines there lay annihilation for him who received them. Cast out forever--judged by his friend without a hearing! Doom had awfully fulfilled itself in the son of Zalika.
The crashing of a huge limb which broke under the pressure of the storm and fell whizzing to the ground, aroused Hartmut from his despairing revery. He had not even started at the crash, but slowly turned his glance to the heavy mass which fell close to him. A foot nearer and it would have struck him--would perhaps have made an end of all the shame and torture in one moment; but death was not made so easy for him. That blessing came to him only who loved life--he who wished to throw it away must do so with his own hand.
Hartmut took the gun from his shoulder and put the butt to the ground; then he laid his hand upon his breast to find the right place. Once more he glanced up to the veiled skies with their scudding masses of clouds, and down to the little dark forest lake in the deceiving meadow, over which the fog clustered as at that time at home. The beckoning, charming will-o'-the-wisp had appeared to him there; he had followed the flame of the depths, and now it drew him down hopelessly; there was no further rising into the heights where other, brighter lights shone. A bullet in the heart and everything would be at an end.
He was about to grasp the trigger when he heard his name called in a tone of deadly anxiety. A slender figure in a dark cloak sprang toward him from the edge of the forest, and the weapon fell from his hand, for he gazed into the face of Adelaide, who stood trembling before him.
Moments passed without a word from either. It was Hartmut who recovered first.
"You here, gracious lady?" he asked with enforced calmness. "Are you out in the forest in this weather?"
"I should like to put the same question to you."
"I have been hunting, but the weather is unpropitious, and I was about to discharge my gun----"
He did not finish, for the sad, reproachful glance upon him told that the lie was in vain. He broke off and looked gloomily before him. Adelaide, too, gave up all pretense, and in her voice all her anxiety trembled as she cried: "Herr von Falkenried, what did you intend to do?"
"What would have now been done had you not interfered," said Hartmut, harshly. "And believe me, gracious lady, it would have been better if coincidence had brought you here a few moments later."
"It was no coincidence. I was at the forestry at Rodeck, and heard that you had been gone for hours. An awful presentiment drove me to look for you here. I was almost sure I should find you here."
"You looked for me? Me, Ada?" His voice shook at the question. "How did you know that I was at the forestry?"
"Through Prince Adelsberg, who called to see me this morning. You received a letter from him?"
"No, only a communication," returned Hartmut with quivering lips. "No single word was directed to me personally in the short lines; they brought only a communication in a business tone which the Prince thought necessary. I fully understood it."
Adelaide was silent; she had known it would drive him to suicide. Slowly she walked with him under the protection of the trees, for it was hardly possible to keep erect out in the open space in this raging storm, but Hartmut did not seem to feel it.
"You know the contents of the communication--I see that you do," he commenced again, "and it is not new to you, either. You overheard what happened that night at Rodeck, but believe me, Ada, what I felt at that moment when you stood before me in that ghostly glow which shone through that night, and it grew clear to me that I had been ground into the dust before you--what I felt might have satisfied even my father's vengeance, might have atoned for all my sin."
"You do him wrong," replied the young widow solemnly. "You saw him only in the stern, iron inflexibility with which he cast you from him. I saw him differently after you had gone. He broke down there in wild anguish; he then let me look into the heart of a despairing father who loved his son above everything. Have you not made an attempt since then to convince him?"
"No; he would believe me as little as Egon does. He who has once broken his word, has lost forever their faith, even if he would regain it with his life. Perhaps my death upon the battlefield would have enlightened them, but when I fall now by my own hand they will see in it only the deed of a despairing man--a guilty one--and will despise me even in my grave."
"Not everybody will do that," said Adelaide lowly. "I believe in you, Hartmut, in spite of everything."
He looked at her, and through the gloomy hopelessness of his soul there flamed something of the old fire.
"You, Ada? And you tell me that upon this spot where you cast me off? You did not know anything about me then----"
"And for that reason I shuddered before the man to whom nothing was sacred--who recognized no law but his will and his passions; but that winter night, when I saw you at your father's feet, showed me that you fell more through doom than guilt. Since then I have known that you can and must cast that unfortunate inheritance from your mother far from you. Rouse yourself, Hartmut. The road which I then showed you is still open; whether it leads to life or death--it leads upward."
He shook his head gloomily.
"No, that is past. You have no conception of what my father has done to me with his terrible words. What my life has been since then I--but let me be silent about it; nobody can grasp it; but I thank you for your faith in me, Ada. Death is made easier to me through that faith."
The young widow made a quick motion toward the weapon which lay at his feet.
"For God's sake, no! You dare not do that!"
"What am I to do with life?" Hartmut burst forth with terrible vehemence. "My mother has branded me as with a red-hot iron, and this closes to me every way to atonement--to salvation. I am cast out from the ranks of my people, where even the poorest peasant can fight; a privilege which is denied only to the dishonorable criminal, is denied also to me, for I am nothing else in Egon's eyes. He fears that I might become a traitor--a spy to my own brothers!"
He covered his face with both hands, and the last words died in a sob; then he felt a hand touch his arm gently.
"The brand is extinguished with the name Rojanow. Throw that from you, Hartmut; I bring you what you tried in vain to obtain--entrance into the army!"
Hartmut started and gazed at her in unbelief.
"Impossible! How could you----"
"Take these papers," interrupted Adelaide, drawing forth a package. "They are made out in the name of Joseph Tanner 29 years old, slender, with dark complexion, black hair and eyes--you see everything will suit--with these nobody will refuse you an entrance as a volunteer."
She gave him the papers, around which his right hand closed spasmodically as upon the most precious jewel.
"And these papers?" he asked, still doubting.
"Belong to a dead man. They were given me for another purpose, but the deceased has no further use for them and will pardon me if with them I save a living man."
Hartmut stormily opened the package. The wind almost tore the sheets from his hand and he was scarcely able to decipher the contents as the young widow continued:
"Joseph Tanner had a small office at Ostwalden, when seized with a hemorrhage this morning. He had but a few hours to live and gave me his last words and mementos for his mother. The poor woman shall receive everything--every letter, every scrap which can be a solace to her, but I have taken the official papers--for you. We do not rob anybody in doing this, for they are valueless to the mother to whom they now belong. Perhaps a strict judge would call that deceit, but I gladly shoulder the blame, and God will pardon it, and so will the fatherland."
Hartmut closed the case and hid it in his breast, which heaved under a deep, deep breath. Then he drew himself up and pushed the rain-soaked locks from the high brow, so like his father's--his only inheritance from the Falkenrieds, but which gave him an unmistakable resemblance to them.
"You are right, Ada," he said. "I cannot thank you in words for what you have done for me. Words have no power, but--I shall strive to deserve it."
"I know that. Farewell and--auf wiedersehen!"
"No, do not wish that," said Hartmut gloomily. "Death in battle can exonerate me to myself, but not to my father or Egon, for they would never hear of it; and if I remained among the living the old stain would return; but when I fall, tell them who rests under the foreign name. Perhaps then they will believe you and remove the curse from my grave."
"Do you want to fall?" asked Adelaide with plaintive reproach, "even if I tell you that you sadden me inexpressibly?"
"Sadden you, Ada!" he cried passionately. "Do you no longer shudder at my love--at the fate which drew us together? Oh, I might have possessed the highest happiness, for you are--free; but it comes near to me now for only a fleeting moment, and vanishes again into unattainable heights, like the form of the legend who bears your name in my drama. Nevertheless, it has approached me, and I may be permitted for once only to clasp it to me in farewell."
He drew her to him and pressed a kiss upon the brow of his love, who leaned against him sobbing.
"Hartmut, promise me that you will not seek death."
"No; but it will know how to find me. Farewell, my own Ada."
He tore himself away hastily. Adelaide remained alone. The storm roared above her head; the giant crowns of the trees moaned and swayed; the storm sang its wild song on and on, but suddenly over in the west there flamed a dark-red rent through the clouds. It was only for a brief moment--only one solitary ray of the sinking sun, but it shiningly illumined the forest height and the departing one, who turned once more and sent back a last greeting. Then the clouds massed together again, and the ray was extinguished.