He stooped to press a paternal kiss upon her forehead, but she shrank away from the caress with an evident expression of dislike.
"What does this mean?" Nordheim asked, with a frown. "Are you afraid of me? Do you not believe me?"
She raised her eyes to his with the same hard, accusing look in them, and her voice, usually so gentle, was inexorably stern, as she replied, "No, papa; I believe neither in your love nor in your kindness. I shall never believe you again,--never!"
Nordheim bit his lip and turned away, mutely motioning to her to leave the room. As mutely she obeyed.
She had rightly divined that the president never for a moment entertained the idea of a marriage between his daughter and the young physician, although he had no scruples in hinting at such a possibility in order to avert for the moment a threatening danger. But he had miscalculated his daughter's insight; the young, inexperienced girl had seen through his device, and, man of iron though he was, he could not endure it. He had preserved his composure in presence of Wolfgang's haughty indignation and of Gronau's threats. His anger had been aroused, and at most he had experienced a vague dread. Now for the first time in his life he felt the sting of shame. Even although the danger menacing him should be averted, he could not away with the consciousness that he was judged and condemned by his only child.
CHAPTER XX.
[BLASTS AND COUNTERBLASTS.]
The construction of the railway was pushed forward with feverish haste. In fact, it was no easy task to have the work completed at the promised time; but Nordheim was right in declaring that the engineer-in-chief would spare neither himself nor his subordinates. Elmhorst spurred on his workmen to incredible exertions; he was present everywhere, superintending and directing, giving to his staff of engineers an example of unwearied devotion to duty that inspired their emulation. Under his leadership their capacity for work seemed doubled, and he actually attained his end. The numerous structures on the line of mountain-railway were now all but finished, and the last touches were being put to the Wolkenstein bridge.
Wolfgang had just returned from his day's expedition. He had dismissed his vehicle in Oberstein, that he might pursue the rest of his way on foot, and now he was standing upon a cliff above the Wolkenstein abyss, watching the workmen, swarming like busy ants upon the trestles and framework of the bridge. A few days more would witness the completion of the work, which already excited universal admiration, and which in the course of a year or two would arouse the wonder of thousands; but he who had created it stood gazing at it as gloomily as if all pleasure in his creation had departed.
He had evaded for to-day an interview with the president, testifying by his absence to his adhesion to his refusal; but some explanation was unavoidable. That the breach between them was final both knew; Nordheim was scarcely the man to accept for his son-in-law one who had so frankly and contemptuously defied him, and from whom he could expect in future no support in his schemes. The question was now how the separation was to be made, since the interests of each required that it should take place as quietly as possible. This was all that was to be arranged, and this was to be settled on the morrow.