"You are going back immediately?" Nordheim asked.
"Certainly; the next express leaves in an hour, and the business that brought me here is concluded. My presence is indispensable at my post."
He bowed and took his leave, not after the familiar fashion of the future son-in-law, but formally, as a stranger, and the president felt the significance of his manner.
When Elmhorst reached the spacious vestibule he found there two servants awaiting him. His rooms had been prepared for him, and the lackeys asked for further orders, but he waved them aside: "Thanks, I am going directly back again, and shall not use the rooms."
The men looked surprised. This was indeed a hurried visit. Would not Herr Elmhorst have the carriage to drive to the station?
"No; I prefer to walk." As he spoke, Elmhorst once more glanced towards the broad staircase leading to the gorgeous apartments in the upper story, and then he left the house where for more than six months he had been regarded as a son, and upon which he was now turning his back forever.
Outside, the October evening was cold and damp; the skies were starless, the air was full of mist, and a keen blast heralded the approach of winter. Involuntarily Wolfgang drew his travelling-cloak closer about his shoulders, as he strode forward at a rapid pace.
It was over! He was perfectly aware of it, and he also clearly perceived Nordheim's desire to avoid a sudden breach for fear lest the man so lately his confidant should expose him by way of revenge. A contemptuous smile curled the young man's lip. Such a fear was quite superfluous; any such act was entirely beneath him. His thoughts wandered to where they had rarely been of late,--to his betrothed. Alice would not suffer if the betrothal were dissolved. She had accepted his suit without opposition in compliance with her father's wish, and she would bend to his will with the same docility should he sever the tie. There had never been any talk of love between them; neither would be conscious of loss.
Wolfgang drew a deep breath. He was free again, free to choose; he could pursue his proud, lonely path, dependent only upon his own courage and capacity, but the voice which had roused him from the stupor of egotism and ambition would never again sound in his ears, the lovely face would never again smile upon him. That prize belonged to another, and, whatever he might achieve in the future, his happiness had been bartered away,--lost forever.