Too Rich: A Romance

by Adolf Streckfuss

He was now wide awake, and his glance fell upon the door that connected his room with Eva's. In the moonlight he saw the glitter of the key in the lock. Were Eva and Aline sound asleep? They had taken a long walk in the morning and had retired late. Bertram had heard the postmaster say that the young ladies had returned quite fatigued from their expedition. Honest Hansel had forgotten to mention that Aline had not joined them.

If he could succeed in unlocking the door and opening it without noise, it would be easy enough to enter the room unheard by the sleeping girls. To possess himself of the casket would be but the work of a moment, and no one would dream that he could have taken it.

Bertram got out of bed, slipped on his dressing-gown, and noiselessly crept to the door leading to Aline's and Eva's apartment. He listened with his ear at the key-hole. The profound silence told of the deep slumber of the occupants of the room. With the greatest caution he succeeded in turning the key noiselessly in the lock; all that was to be done was to open the door as silently. His heart throbbed and his hand trembled as he took hold of the latch. "Courage! Boldly ventured is half won," he said to himself, as he pressed down the latch and pushed against the door, which however did not yield to his efforts,--it was bolted on the inside. "Fool that I am!" he exclaimed to himself as with a whispered curse he stole back again to his bed.

The sun stood high in the heavens when Bertram next awoke. He remembered the events of the night as those of a terrible dream, and yet strangely enough, its fantastic images pursued him in his waking hours. His thoughts dwelt perpetually upon the ebony casket, and upon how he could gain possession of it without being suspected of the theft.

Theft! It was an ugly word, and had not occurred to him during the night, but in the light of day the deed he contemplated showed for what it was, and he acknowledged to himself, with an angry flush that proved him not quite dead to a sense of shame, that the appropriation to himself of the casket, even although it belonged to his betrothed, was nothing more or less than a common theft.

Such thoughts however were uppermost but for a moment. He reflected again that a theft was no worse than a forgery, nor more severely punished by the law. The possession of the casket would enable him to escape punishment for forgery, by providing him the means wherewith, if the worst came to the worst, he might seek refuge in foreign lands. It was folly to shrink from a word, and he found some excuse for himself in the consideration that all that was Eva's might soon be legally his. Was she not his betrothed? If she kept her promise to him it would be easy to contrive some way of restoring the casket to her at a future day; and if she broke her engagement with him she deserved no mercy at his hands, and he must look out for his own safety.

While he dressed, his mind was filled with thoughts of this description with which he silenced the last whispers of conscience. He left his room and betook himself to the balcony. He feared that he should find Delmar at breakfast there, but that could not be helped. As long as the balcony served the guests of the inn for a dining-room it was impossible to avoid seeing them there.

But to Bertram's satisfaction, Delmar was not on the balcony, nor, indeed, was Eva to be found there. Uncle Balthasar and Aunt Minni were sitting at the breakfast-table with Fräulein von Schlicht and Herwarth, and they had finished drinking their coffee.

Uncle Balthasar received him with some good-natured badinage about his late rising, telling him that Leo von Heydeck and Fräulein Hilda had carried off Eva and Herr Delmar upon a mountain-excursion early in the morning. They had started at six o'clock, and would not return until evening, for Eva had ordered her servant Wilhelm and a boy from the inn to follow them with lunch packed in baskets.

Guido was relieved, it is true, to know that there was no chance of his meeting his enemies for some hours to come, but vexation at Eva's treatment of him far overbalanced this relief. Had she forgotten that she was betrothed to him? Did she not outrage decency by thus wandering about the country with Delmar without even giving her future bridegroom a choice whether or not to join them? This conduct on her part gave him a right to treat her with the same want of consideration, and again he thought of the ebony casket.