Summer had come; it was only early summer still however, in the mountains, for it was the middle of June; but the woods and meadows were clothed in fresh green, and only the loftiest peaks wore the mantle of snow which was never laid aside. Up there neither spring, summer, nor autumn had any existence: winter reigned in eternal, icy splendour.
The extensive Alpine valley which three years ago lay undisturbed in its solemn, dreary solitude, now showed all the traces of the human intellect which was then just invading it with its host of obedient forces. Dark openings yawned in the walls of rock, and from the depths a narrow path wound upward in serpentine lines,--the iron road to which forest and rock had been forced to yield,--while across the Wolkenstein chasm the masterpiece of the whole gigantic undertaking, the bridge, now wellnigh completed, seemed to hover in air above the dizzy depths.
It had been no easy task to build this railway, and the Wolkenstein domain had presented the greatest obstacles to its completion. They seemed actually to spring out of the ground at every step; the most careful calculations continually turned out to be imperfect, well-devised schemes proved ineffectual, unforeseen catastrophes occurred, and more than once imperilled the success of the undertaking.
But the man who conducted the road through the Wolkenstein section was equal to every difficulty, was daunted by no obstacle, discouraged by no catastrophe. He proceeded on his way with his myrmidons, step by step subjecting to his sway the rugged and hitherto unquelled nature of the Alpine fastnesses.
The railway company was well aware of the force it possessed in its superintending engineer, and now extolled the wisdom of its president in the choice it had at first opposed. Gradually a power to act almost without limits was placed in the hands of the young man, and he knew well how to keep and to use it. The engineer-in-chief had long given nothing save his name to the undertaking; every project, every decision, was the work of his energetic and talented chief of staff, and when the young man was betrothed to Nordheim's daughter and became the probable heir to millions, all opposition was mute,--everything bowed before him.
Every trace of Wolkenstein Court had vanished; it was levelled to the ground the year in which its master closed his eyes forever. There was no longer any need to regard the feelings of the eccentric old man whose heart had been broken by the invasion of his home. On the spot where the ancestral abode of the Thurgaus had once stood there was now a stately structure, the future railway-station, built just at the entrance of the huge bridge. Until the line of railway should be opened in the coming spring, the building was occupied by various offices, and Superintendent Elmhorst had his rooms in the upper story. It formed, so to speak, the head-quarters of the Wolkenstein section, and the centre of gravitation of the entire railway.
Wolfgang had established himself here after the manner which had become a necessity to him since his salary had been increased. The bright, spacious apartments had a most comfortable aspect, the pleasantest being his office, with its dark hangings and rugs, its carved oaken furniture, and its well-filled bookshelves. The corner window before which the writing-table was placed commanded the entire view of the great bridge. The bold structure was always before the eyes of its architect.
Elmhorst sat at his writing-table talking with Benno Reinsfeld, who had just appeared. The young physician was unchanged in person and manner, except that he had become rather more unconventional and awkward. Long years passed in a retired mountain-village, the laborious nature of the practice of a country doctor, and constant intercourse with men for whom the forms of society did not exist, had produced their effect.
At present, indeed, the Herr Doctor was in full dress; he wore a black coat, which saw the light only on state occasions; unfortunately, its cut was that of ten years previous. He certainly did not show in it to advantage, it pinched him too much; his gray jacket and felt hat were infinitely more comfortable. There was no denying that Reinsfeld looked a good deal like a peasant, and he was probably conscious of it himself, for he was enduring with a very meek air the reproaches of his friend, who shook his head as he looked at him.
"Do you want me to present you to the ladies in that coat?" he said, irritably. "Why did you not put on your dress-coat, at least?"