"Farewell, thou best and purest of men," he whispered to himself, and a sudden tear ran down his cheek.
CHAPTER XIV.
Three years had passed, it was the summer of 1856. Bright and hot, the June sun shone upon the Valley of the Rhine ripening the vineyards that hung upon its rocky declivities. The boat steaming down the Valley from Mayence to the holy city of Cologne, had its sheltering awning carefully stretched over the deck, and all went merrily on board, merrily as ever. More beautiful landscapes there may be in the world, but none that make the heart more glad. And so thought two grave-looking men who had come aboard at Mayence that morning. They had come from Austria, and were going to London; they did not want to miss the opportunity of seeing the beautiful river, but at the beginning of the journey they made but a poor use of the favourable day. They sat there oppressed and scarcely looking up, consulting together about the weighty business that lay on their shoulders. But an hour later, when they got into Nassau, they yielded to the charm of the scenery, and as they glided by Rüdesheim, they began to consider whether, after all, the Rhine was not the proper place to drink Rhine-wine, and when they passed the Castle called the Pfalz at Caub, they first saw this venerable building through their spectacles, and then through the green-gold light of the brimming glasses they were holding to their eyes.
These two men were Dr. George Berger of Bolosch and a fellow barrister from Vienna. They had a difficult task to perform in London. One of the largest iron-foundries in Austria, that at Bolosch, had got into difficulties, and an attempt to stave off bankruptcy had failed, less from the action of the creditors, than from the miserable red-tapism of the Chief Justice of Bolosch, Herr von Werner. The foundry, which employed thousands of men, would be utterly ruined if it did not succeed in obtaining foreign capital. With this object, these two representatives of the firm were making their way to England.
On the Rhine, everybody forgets their cares and this was their good-fortune too. And so greatly had the lovely river, which both now saw for the first time, taken possession of their hearts, that they could not part company with it even at Cologne, where most people went ashore. They resolved to continue the journey by the river as far as Arnhem, and they paced up and down the now empty deck cheerfully talking in the cool of the evening. No mountains, no castles, were any longer reflected in the stream, but the look of its shores was still pleasant, and when they saw the light of dying day spread its rosy net over the broad and swiftly flowing waters, they did not repent their resolve, and extolled the day that had ended as beautiful as it had begun.
The shades of evening fell, the banks of the river grew more and more flat and bare, factories became more and more plentiful, and behind Dusseldorf, they saw the red glare of countless blast-furnaces, brightly glowing in the dark.
This sight reminded them of their task.
"Who knows," sighed Berger's friend Dr. Moldenhauer, "how soon these fires at home may not be extinguished! And why? Because of the narrow-mindedness of one single man. Nothing in my life ever roused my indignation more than our dealings with your Chief Justice! What pedantry! what shortsightedness! Now his predecessor, Baron Sendlingen, was a different sort of man!"
Berger sighed deeply. "That he was!" he replied.
"The Werners stay, the Sendlingens go," continued Dr. Moldenhauer. "And they are allowed to go cheerfully, nay, even forced to go! At least it was generally said that, when Baron Sendlingen suddenly retired a few years ago, it was not on account of heart-disease, as officially reported, but because he had had a difference with the Minister of Justice. The regret at this was so great that His Excellency had to hear many a reproach."