Gold Elsie

by E. Marlitt

Outside, as the door closed upon the suffering girl, he gave full play to the expression of contempt that he had so long suppressed, and which gave place only to a look of self-satisfaction still more detestable. One hour before, his heart had been filled with rage. His passion for Elizabeth, fanned into a flame by her rejection of his advances, had been a consuming fire, and had robbed him of all his boasted self-control. But the idea of marriage with the daughter of the forester's clerk had never occurred to him,—such a thought would have seemed to him insane. He had exhausted his ingenuity in contriving plans to procure a return of affection from the object of his passion. The late occurrence at Gnadeck had given his thoughts another direction. Elizabeth was now a most desirable match, noble and wealthy. No wonder, then, that he exulted at the news, and immediately formed the magnanimous resolution of honouring the fair flower of Castle Gnadeck with an offer of marriage. There was, of course, no doubt that she would accept the offer, for although coquetry had led her to reject his advances hitherto, she could not possibly pursue such a line of conduct, in view of the brilliant prospect of becoming the envied wife of Herr von Hollfeld. He was so secure upon this point that not a cloud of distrust darkened the horizon of his future. It was not only his intense desire to possess Elizabeth that urged him on to act as quickly as possible,—the thought, that as soon as the discovery in the ruins became known, other suitors would present themselves for the hand of Gold Elsie, already so famous for her beauty,—this thought made his blood boil in his veins.

Only one obstacle stood between him and the fulfilment of his determination, and that was Helene. It was not that he hesitated, through sympathy, at the thought of how the fondly-loving girl would suffer,—he knew no pity with regard to her,—but he was in dread lest too hasty a marriage might cost him the inheritance which he looked for from her. It was a case for prudence and forethought. We have seen how, in cold blood, he made use of the unhappy girl's deep and blind affection, and, while pretending to submit to her decision the weightiest questions concerning his future life, riveted the chain that bound her to him.

As soon as he had left the room Helene tottered to the door, and bolted it after him. And then she resigned herself to utter despair.

They who have never known the hours of torture that ensue upon the sudden hearing of some unexpected misfortune,—hours when we would fain shriek out our misery into the ears of the universe, and when, needing the sympathy and support of others as never before, we are driven, as by some evil spirit, to darkness and loneliness, as though light and sound were deadly poison to our wound,—they, we say, who have never known the pangs that threaten to efface all the landmarks of a previously harmonious inner life, will scarcely be able to conceive that Helene sank down upon the floor, with her little hands plucking wildly at her fair curls, and her frail, diminutive form shivering as from a fever fit. She had lived and breathed only in her absorbing affection for this man. If a few gloomy looks, some slight neglect of his, had sufficed to plunge her into the deepest melancholy, and make her utterly careless of an event that would once have wrung her sisterly affection to the very soul, how much greater must her agony now be in the conviction that she was about to lose him forever!

In the wild chaos of thought filling her brain, she was entirely incapable of one clear, decided conclusion. The humiliating consciousness of her physical infirmities, which caused her to be thrust out of an earthly paradise; Hollfeld's confession of love to which she had just listened, and which brought such infinite joy and woe; a frantic jealousy of the woman, whoever she might be, who was to stand beside him as a wife,—all these emotions were seething in her mind, threatening to sever the frail thread that bound together soul and body.

It was late, and night had already fallen, when she admitted her anxious maid, and yielded to her entreaties to retire to rest. She emphatically refused to see the physician, sent word to the baroness, who asked to come in to say good-night, that she could not be disturbed, her need of rest was so great,—and then passed the most wretched night of her life.

She grew a little more quiet, that is, the fearful tension of her nerves relaxed somewhat, when the first beam of morning light pierced the curtains of her room. The thin golden ray seemed to glide into her darkened soul, and illumine thoughts which had hitherto been hidden in the wild tumult of her mind. She began to believe that Hollfeld's course was one of the purest self-sacrifice. She had never been able to disguise or thrust from her the haunting conviction that his marriage might one day become an imperative necessity, and she could not fail to be conscious that her idea of his waiting until she should be no more had never occurred to him. Was not his sacrifice great? Loving her, and her only, he must belong to another; ought she to make the performance of a sacred duty difficult for him by her grief? He had asked her to tread a thorny path with him. Should she draw back like a coward when he set her such an example of strength and endurance? And if another woman could be found content with friendship instead of love, should she allow herself to be outdone in self-renunciation?

In feverish haste she rang the bell by her bedside, and summoned her maid. Yes, she would be strong; but she was conscious that only entire certainty could give her courage and the power of endurance; she must know, as soon as possible, the name of the woman whom Hollfeld thought capable of undertaking so hard a part in life. She had passed before her, in review, every unmarried woman of her acquaintance, but had rejected on the instant each and all.

The hour had not yet arrived at which she was accustomed to take breakfast with the baroness and Hollfeld; her brother always avoided this early meeting of his household, but she could not remain in her lonely room, and, as she was greatly exhausted, was pushed in her wheeled chair into the dining-room. To her surprise, she heard from one of the servants that the baroness had gone to walk half an hour previously,—a very strange piece of news, but one that she was most glad to learn, for just as she was wheeled into a recess of one of the windows she discovered Hollfeld pacing to and fro upon the lawn without. He seemed to have no suspicion that he was observed. His fine, manly figure moved with elastic grace. Now and then he put a cigar to his lips with evident enjoyment, and the delicate aroma floating through the air reached Helene at her window. At first the little lady was painfully impressed by his unusually gay and cheerful expression; she could not but confess to herself that youthful exuberance of spirits, love of life, and an unwonted exhilaration of mind were manifest in his every look and motion, even in the half-unconscious smile that now and then parted his lips, discovering his wonderfully white teeth. There was no trace there of those struggles which she had passed through during the night; he certainly did not look much like the victim of an inexorable combination of circumstances. But was not his self-possession the result of great mental force and a strong manly will? He must have reached a height almost too lofty for human nature to attain.

The little lady's brow contracted in a frown.