Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source: http://www.archive.org/details/nosurrender00wern
2. The author's name E. Werner is a pseudonym for Elisabeth Bürstenbinder.

NO SURRENDER.

NO SURRENDER.

FROM THE GERMAN OF

E. WERNER.

BY

CHRISTINA TYRRELL.

A NEW EDITION.

LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON,
Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen.
1881.

[All Rights Reserved.]

NO SURRENDER.

CHAPTER I.

The whole landscape lay in bright sunshine. Clear as a mirror gleamed the broad smooth surface of the lake, faithfully reflecting the image of the town which rose in picturesque beauty on its shores, whilst in the distance, vividly distinct, appeared the jagged peaks and dazzling summits of the snow-mountains.

A suburb rich in villas and gardens lined the shore. In its midst stood a pretty, detached habitation of modest aspect. It was a one-storied cottage, by no means spacious, and showing signs of no special luxury within or without. An open vine-traceried veranda formed well-nigh its sole ornament; yet there was an air of refinement about the little place, and it had a right friendly pleasant look, thanks to its fresh white walls and green jalousies; while the surrounding garden, not very large, truly, but highly cultivated, and stretching away to the border of the lake, had a peculiar charm of its own, and greatly added to the general attractiveness of the little country-house.

In the veranda, which afforded ample protection from the sun's ardent rays, and where, even at noonday, a certain degree of coolness might be enjoyed, two gentlemen were pacing, talking as they walked.

The elder of the two was a man of, it might be, about fifty years; but old age seemed to have come upon him prematurely, for his form was bent and his hair as grey as it could well be. The deeply-furrowed face, too, bore evidence of bygone struggles, perhaps of sorrows and sufferings of many kinds endured in the past, and the sharp, bitter lines about the mouth gave a harsh and almost hostile expression to a countenance which must once have been bright with ardour and intelligence. In the eye alone there still blazed a fire which neither years nor the hard experiences of life had had power to quench, and which was in singular contrast with the silvered head and drooping carriage.

His companion was much younger; a man slender of build and of average height, with features which, though not strictly regular, were yet in the highest degree attractive, and grave, earnest blue eyes. His light chestnut hair waved over a fine open forehead. There was that slight paleness of complexion which tells not of sickliness, but of keen intellectual activity and a constant mental strain; and the predominant expression was one of quiet steadfastness, such as is but rarely stamped on a face at seven or eight and twenty. There could hardly be a sharper contrast than that afforded by these two men.

"So you are really going to leave us already George?" asked the elder, in a regretful tone.

The young man smiled.

"Already? I think I have made claim enough on your hospitality, Doctor. When I came, I had no intention of staying on for weeks; but you received me with such hearty kindness, I might have been some near and dear relation, instead of a stranger who could only boast a college friendship with your son. I shall never forget----"

"Pray do not thank me for that which has been a pleasure to myself," the Doctor interrupted him. "I only fear that at home you may have to pay a penalty for the hospitality you have here enjoyed. To have stayed at my house will be accounted a crime in Assessor Winterfeld--a crime which will hardly meet with forgiveness. I have never concealed from you the fact that your visit here is a venture which may compromise your whole position."

The ironical tone of this warning called up a transient flush to young Winterfeld's brow, and accounted for the vivacity with which he answered:

"I think I have shown you that I am capable of maintaining my own independence under all and any circumstances. My position, I should hope, lays me under no obligation to avoid friendly relations which are of a purely private nature."

"You think not? I am convinced of the contrary. On your return we shall see which of us is right. Remember this, George; you are under Baron von Raven's régime."

"I do not imagine that my chief troubles himself greatly about the holiday excursions of his officials," said George, quietly. "He is severe, inexorable even, in all matters relating to the service, but he never interferes in our private concerns. That justice I must do him, though I do not rank among his friends, I am, as you know, a thorough-going opponent of the tendencies he represents, and therefore personally opposed to himself; albeit, as his subordinate, I find myself for the time being compelled to silence and obedience."

"For the time being?" echoed the Doctor, sarcastically. "I tell you, he means to teach you lasting silence and obedience, and if you do not show yourself teachable he will crush and ruin you. That is his way, as it is the way of all such despicable parvenus."

George shook his head gravely,

"You go too far. The Baron has many enemies, and I do not doubt that in secret much hatred and bitterness are entertained towards him, but as yet no one has ventured to speak his name with contempt."

"Well, I venture it then," said the Doctor, with sudden vehemence; "and, truly, not without good grounds."

The young man looked at him in silence, then, after a pause of a second, he laid his hand on his arm.

"Dr. Brunnow, forgive me if I ask you a question which may, perhaps, seem indiscreet. What is this matter between you and my chief? Whenever his name is mentioned, you betray an amount of bitterness which cannot possibly have its origin in mere political opposition. You seem to know him intimately."

Brunnow's lips twitched:

"We were friends once," he answered, in a low voice; "young men together."

"Impossible!" exclaimed George. "You and----"

"His Excellency Baron Arno von Raven, Governor of the Province of R----, and closest friend and confidant of our present rulers," completed the Doctor, laying a sharp, scornful emphasis on each word. "That surprises you, does it not?"

"Certainly. I had no notion of any such acquaintance between you."

"How should you? it dates almost half a generation back. In those days he was only plain Arno Raven, and as poor and unknown as myself. We learned to know each other in stormy, troubled times, meeting in the ranks of the party to which we both belonged. Raven with his splendid talents and restless energy soon worked to the front, and became leader of us all. We followed him with blind confidence--I more especially, for I loved him as I have loved no human being since, not even my wife or child. All the enthusiasm of my youth was lavished on him. He was my hero, to whom I looked up with ardent admiration--my ideal, my pride--until the day when he betrayed and deserted us all, when he sacrificed honour to ambition, and sold himself body and soul to our enemies, giving us up at the same time to perdition. They call me 'misanthropic,' those wise folk who have never had their illusions rudely dispelled--who have never met despair face to face. If indeed I am a misanthrope, my nature was warped to bitterness on that day when, losing my friend, I lost with him all faith in mankind."

He turned away in great agitation. Evidently the memory of that long bygone event still shook the man's whole being to its depths.

"So there is some foundation for those reports which hint at a dark spot in the Baron's past," remarked George, thoughtfully. "I have heard rumours and vague allusions, but no one ever appeared to have any positive knowledge on the subject. The matter must always have escaped publicity, for Raven is only known as the energetic, unyielding representative of the government."

"Renegades are ever the most untiring persecutors of the faith they have abandoned," said Brunnow, gloomily; "and there was always a dangerous element at work in Arno Raven, a fierce, consuming, all-mastering ambition. This was his ruling passion, the true mainspring of his actions; and this it was which finally brought about his fall. His thoughts were constantly running on power and greatness to be achieved in the future; he longed to govern, to command, cost what it might, and he has obtained his heart's desire. His career is absolutely unexampled. From poverty and obscurity he has risen step by step from one dignity, from one high distinction to another. On becoming the son-in-law of the minister whose acknowledged favourite he had ever been, he was exalted to the rank of Baron, and at this moment he is the well-nigh omnipotent governor of one of the principal provinces of the land. He stands on the lofty pinnacle whereof he used to dream; but I, whom he drove into prison and into banishment, who can look back only on a weary course of years full of the most bitter disappointments, and who, standing now on the threshold of old age, have still to wrestle with the material cares of life--I would not exchange my lowly lot for his greatness. He has paid for it a heavy price--the price of his honour."

The speaker was terribly agitated. He broke off, and, turning, strode a few times up and down the veranda, striving to conquer his emotion. After a while he came back to George, who was standing silent and full of thought.

"I have not touched on this subject for years," he began again; "but I owed it to you to speak frankly. You are no blind, ductile instrument, such as Raven requires, such as alone he suffers about him; and I fear an hour may come when you will find yourself compelled to refuse him obedience, if you wish to remain true to your principles, and to quit yourself as an honourable man. What your after-fate may be beyond that turning-point is indeed another question. Stand fast, George! Through all the dislike and antagonism you nurture in your heart towards him, there runs a subtle, secret vein of admiration for this man, and I can understand it but too well. He has ever exercised a really magic influence over all who have come into contact with him. You yourself cannot altogether escape it, and for this reason I have thought it necessary to enlighten you on the subject of Baron von Raven. You know now what manner of man he is."

"I thought so, I declare! There they are again in the thick of their politics, or immersed in some other interminable debate," said a voice behind them. "I have been hunting for you all over the house, George. Good-morning, father."

The speaker, who now stepped into the veranda, was, apparently, George's junior by some years, but taller and of stronger build than his friend--a fresh-looking, vigorous young man, with a frank open face, clear eyes, and a plentiful crop of curly light hair. He cast one scrutinizing glance at his father's face, still crimsoned by agitation, and then went on:

"You should not excite yourself so much with your discussions, father. You know how injurious it is to you; moreover, you have been hard at work already this morning, I see."

So saying, he walked up to a table covered with books and papers, which stood at a little distance, and began turning over some written pages.

"Let that alone, Max," said his father, impatiently. "You will disarrange the manuscript, and you take no interest in these abstruse scientific studies."

"Because I have no time for them," answered Max, quietly laying down the papers. "A young assistant-surgeon at a hospital cannot sit all day poring over his books. You know I have my hands pretty full."

"Time might be found," remarked Brunnow. "What you lack is inclination."

"Well, inclination too, if you like. Practice is my study, and I dare say it will get me on as far."

"As far as your ambition takes you, no doubt." There was an unmistakable slight in the father's tone. "You will very probably found an extensive practice, and look on your calling altogether in the light of a lucrative profession. I do not question it in the least."

At this Max evidently had to fight down some rising irritation, but he answered with tolerable calm:

"I shall certainly found a practice of my own at the earliest opportunity. You might have done the same twenty years ago, but you preferred to write medical works which bring you in very little money, and, at the best, only obtain recognition from some few choice spirits among your colleagues. Tastes differ."

"As our conception of life differs. You do not know what it means to sacrifice yourself--to live for science."

"I sacrifice myself for nobody," said Max, defiantly. "I intend conscientiously to fulfil my duties in life, and shall think that, in so doing, I have done enough. You have a fancy for useless self-immolation, father. I have none."

"Leave this incorrigible realist to his errors, Doctor," struck in George, who from the irritated tone of both men began to fear a scene, such as was not unfrequent between father and son. "I have long given up all attempt to convert him. But now we will neither of us disturb you any longer. Max promised to go for a walk with me to the wood this morning, as soon as he returned."

"Now, just at mid-day?" asked the Doctor, in surprise. "Why not go later?"

Some slight confusion was visible in young Winterfeld's face, but he quickly mastered it.

"Later on I have to pack up and make ready for my departure, and I should like to take one last look at the lake and the mountains. It is hard on me, I assure you, to go away and leave them."

"That I believe," said Max, with a peculiar and rather malicious intonation; but he relapsed into silence on meeting his friend's half-angry, half-imploring glance.

Brunnow seemed to attach no importance to the matter. He waved them a hasty farewell, and went up to his writing-table again, while the two young men strode through the garden, and, Max having opened the iron gate, struck into the footpath which ran close to the border of the lake. They went on some time in silence. George seemed grave and thoughtful, and the young surgeon was evidently in a very ill-humour, to which the recent conversation with his father and the approaching departure of his friend may have conduced in equal shares.

"So this is the last day you are to spend here!" he began at length; "and what good can I have of it--what good have I had indeed of your visit at all? Half the time you have passed with my father, declaiming against the condition of our beloved country in general, and the dictatorship of Baron von Raven in particular. When, after unheard-of efforts, I have been so lucky as to withdraw you from the political ground, you have abused my friendship in the most shameful manner, making me stand sentry in the noonday glare, at a temperature of 86° Fahrenheit. A most agreeable post, I must say!"

"What a way of speaking!" said George, impatiently. "I merely asked you----"

"To keep watch that you should not be disturbed in your meetings--quite accidental meetings, of course--with Fräulein von Harder. That is what we, in plain English, call 'standing sentry!' How many such chance encounters may you, with or without my co-operation as walking gentleman, have enacted on this stage? Take care the mamma does not get to hear of these sociable little rambles."

"You know that my leave is out, and that I must start to-morrow," was the rather curt reply.

Max heaved a little sigh.

"Ah, the interview is likely to last a tremendous time to-day, I see. Don't be offended, old fellow. It may be very interesting to you to swear eternal fidelity by the sun, moon, and stars, but, for an outsider, the business is excessively tedious, particularly with such a temperature as we have to-day. I may safely say it is the warmest proof of friendship I ever gave a man in my life."

Talking thus, they had reached the "wood," really nothing more than a group of chestnut trees shading a stretch of meadow-land on the border of the lake. It was a favourite and much frequented resort of the townsfolk, for from thence might be had a splendid panoramic view of the lovely sheet of water and the grand surrounding mountains. Now, at noonday, the spot was quite solitary and deserted. George who had hurried on before, stood still and gazed around expectantly, but in vain. Max sauntered up slowly after him, and in his turn took a general survey, but with no better result. Failing to discover a figure in the distance, he sat down beneath one of the mightiest chestnut-trees, on a grassy bank which formed a natural resting-place, and whence the finest prospect might be enjoyed. Leaning back in the most comfortable posture, he watched his friend with a mixture of raillery and compassion, as the latter paced up and down, betraying in every look and action his feverish uneasiness.

"I say, George, what is to be the end of this love affair, this romance of yours?" he began again, after a protracted silence.

The other frowned.

"How often have I begged you not to speak of it in that tone?"

"Did I not express myself tenderly enough? There is plenty of romance in your love, I should fancy. A young middle-class Government clerk without fortune or prospects, and a high-born Baroness and future heiress--secret meetings--prospective opposition of the whole family, struggles and emotions ad infinitum. I congratulate you on all these pleasant things. I should look on the business as an awkward one myself, I know."

"That I believe," said George, with a touch of sarcasm; "but, my dear Max, you really are not competent to pronounce on such matters."

"My nature being an out-and-out prosaic one," concluded Max, with perfect equanimity. "Well, I can't say you there tell me anything new. My father perpetually impresses on my mind the fact that I lack all tendency to the ideal. He has conscientiously striven to impart to me these more elevated views and notions, but unfortunately, it has not answered. I do not belong to the class of 'highly organised natures,' such as yourself, for instance. You are far more to my father's taste, and I think he would not hesitate a moment could he adopt you in my place."

A smile passed over George's face.

"If you agree to it, I have no objection."

"Just try it," said Max, dryly. "He is exceptionally gracious to you, because he happens to have taken a special fancy to you; but, in real truth, he is within an ace of turning misanthrope and man-hater. Nothing satisfies him. All his judgments are distorted, his views tinged by that bitter irritability of spirit which he ascribes to an unappeased yearning after the ideal, and that is the ground of the incessant warfare between us. He cannot forgive me for finding myself tolerably comfortable in this miserable, worthless world, with which he himself is at perpetual loggerheads. In fact, matters between us are growing more and more unbearable day by day."

"You do your father an injustice," said George, soothingly. "The man who has given up, as he has given up, home, standing, and freedom, to that which he calls his ideal, has a right to apply a higher standard to the world and to his fellow-creatures."

"But I am not up to the higher standard, you see," declared the young surgeon, testily. "You are much nearer the mark. This my father detected at once, and sequestrated you to his own use accordingly. You would sink wonderfully in his estimation though, if he could guess that, in the very first days of your stay here, you committed the boundless folly of falling in love."

"Max, I beg of you," his friend broke in angrily; but Max was now fairly under way, and was not to be stopped.

"I repeat what I have said: it is folly," he asserted roundly. "You, with your serious views of life, your unceasing toil, your ideal aims--very superfluous things in reality, no doubt, but with you they must be taken into account--and this perverse spoilt child--this Gabrielle von Harder, who has been brought up in the midst of riches and in the lap of luxury, and has been innoculated with all the prejudices of her aristocratic caste! Do you really imagine that she will ever have the smallest understanding for the things which interest you? I tell you she will give you up directly the grave consequences of this holiday idyll become apparent to her, and the influence of her family makes itself felt. You will stake your all on this game, will waste your best strength in struggling with the relations, only to be sacrificed at last to some count or baron, who by birth will be a suitable parti for her young ladyship."

"No, no," said George, with a burst of vehemence. "You hardly know Gabrielle. You have never been in her company more than a few minutes at a time, whilst I----" He stopped suddenly, then went on in a softened voice--"I know well that there is a gap between us, a great divergence besides that of outward circumstances, but she is so young, she has hitherto seen life's sunny side only--and there are no limits to my love for her."

Max shrugged his shoulders in a way which plainly said that the last reason appeared to him highly unsatisfactory.

"Every man to his taste!" he said coolly. "This limitless love would not exactly be mine, and, so far as I see, there is very little to be gained by it. But"--he stood up--"it is time for me to go on duty, for I see the flutter of a light garment out yonder near those elder-bushes, and a glow on your countenance as though the seventh heaven had opened to your delighted vision. George, do me one favour, I entreat. Let not the fact altogether escape your mind that there is such a thing as the noonday hour, and that ordinary mortals are accustomed then to take a repast. An extremely unpractical idea of yours, this rendezvous just in the middle of the day! I hope you will not let me perish from starvation, as a reward for my self-denying friendship."

Having thus delivered himself. Max Brunnow beat a retreat. Young Winterfeld hardly heard what he said. He was intently watching the light slender figure of a girl who now approached from the outskirts of the wood. She came swiftly and gracefully over the grass towards him, and in a few minutes stood at his side.

"Here I am, George. Have you been waiting long? It really seemed as if I should not get away to-day unnoticed, and I very nearly gave up the attempt altogether. But it would have been too cruel to let my knight languish here in vain. I believe you would never, never have forgiven me, if I had let you depart without a solemn farewell."

George held fast the little hand, which after the first slight pressure sought to withdraw itself, and there was a reproachful accent in his voice, as he said:

"Is this separation so light a thing to you, Gabrielle? Have you no other words for me at parting than these teasing quips and jests?"

The young lady looked up in surprise.

"Separation? Parting? Why, we shall see each other again in a month."

"In a month! Does that seem to you so short a time?"

Gabrielle laughed.

"It is just four times seven days. You must manage to live through them in some way; but after that we shall be coming to R---- ourselves, you know. You have a great deal to do with my guardian, have you not?"

"With Baron von Raven? Certainly. I work in his bureaux, as you are aware, and have to make reports to him from time to time."

"I hardly know him," said Gabrielle, indifferently. "I have just seen him now and again when he has come on a short visit to the capital, and that is all. The last time was three years ago. On that occasion his Excellency hardly deigned to notice me--treated me, in fact, exactly like a child, though I was then quite fourteen. You may imagine that I was in no way delighted at the prospect of living under his roof for the future, until"--here she smiled roguishly--"until I made the acquaintance of a certain George Winterfeld, and heard from him that he had the privilege of being one of my guardian's secretaries."

A strange look flitted across George's features, a look which seemed to say he was of a different opinion as to the "privilege."

"You deceive yourself if you build any hopes on that circumstance," he replied gravely. "The intercourse I hold with the Baron is purely official in its nature, and he well knows how to restrict it within the narrowest possible limits. In all else I stand wide as the poles apart from him. A young, middle-class man, holding as yet only a subordinate government appointment, does not find admittance to the Governor's circles, and can hardly venture to claim acquaintance with the Baroness von Harder. There will be distance enough between us, even though I come daily to the house in which you dwell. Here in this holiday freedom we have had the chance of learning to know, to love each other."

"In reality, you owe it to our boat which struck on the sand-bank just at the right time," put in Gabrielle. "Do you remember our first meeting, George? To this day mamma believes that she was in deadly peril, and looks on you as her deliverer, because you brought us cleverly through the shallow water to land. She would hardly have consented else to receive such frequent visits from one bearing your plebeian name; but the man who has saved one's life must be an exception, of course. If she did but know that her hero has already made me a declaration of love!"

The undisguised triumph expressed in the last words seemed to grate upon the young man. He fixed his eyes on her countenance with a scrutinising, anxious gaze.

"And if the Baroness should hear of it, sooner or later, what would you do?"

"Present you to her in all due form as my future lord and master," declared Gabrielle, with comic solemnity. "There would be an explosion, of course: tears, reproaches, hysterics--mamma is a capital hand at all these, but it comes to nothing. She invariably gives in at last, and I get my own way."

She said all this airily, carelessly, laughing gleefully as she spoke. The thought of a catastrophe which would have filled any other maiden with alarm, was, it appeared, positively diverting to the young Baroness Harder. She had seated herself on the grassy mound, and taken off her straw hat. The sunbeams, which here and there pierced through the thick leafy canopy of the chestnut-trees, played on her luxuriant fair hair and blooming face, whence a pair of great sparkling brown eyes looked merrily forth into the world. The face, with its delicate, pure outlines, was undoubtedly of fascinating loveliness, but it was wanting in that soul-speaking depth of expression which gives to the human countenance its highest charm. Beneath this radiant, beaming gaiety, one might have sought in vain any token of graver, deeper feeling. This want, however, hardly lessened the attractiveness of her fresh beauty, for all about her breathed of rosy youth, of life's happy, blossoming spring-time. She seemed the embodied reflection of the landscape out yonder, sunny and light as herself.

George looked at her with a singular mixture of vexation and tenderness.

"Gabrielle, you treat all this as so much sport, and seem to have no idea of the troubles which menace us, of the battles we shall have to fight!"

"Is the thought of battle alarming to you?"

"To me?" A flush mounted to the young man's brow. "I am ready to cope with every difficulty, if only you will stand steadily by me. But you mistake if you reckon on your mother's customary compliance in this instance, when all her prejudices will be aroused, all her family traditions evoked in opposition. And even if you should succeed in winning her over, nothing will change your guardian's views. I know him. He will never give his consent."

Gabrielle leaned her fair head against the tree's mighty trunk, and plucked carelessly at some blades of grass.

"I do not care for his consent," she said. "I shall not allow him to dictate to me one way or the other. Let him try to coerce me!"

"No one will attempt to coerce you, but they will separate us," replied George. "The very moment our love is discovered, our separation will be decreed. I know it, and it is this knowledge alone which imposes silence on me. You little guess how the secrecy, which has such a charm for you, the continued anxious concealment, distresses and humiliates me; how contrary it is to my whole nature. Now for the first time I feel all the hardship of being poor and unknown."

"What does it matter if you are poor?" asked Gabrielle, carelessly. "I shall be very rich one day. Mamma is always telling me that I am to be Uncle Raven's sole heiress."

George was silent, setting his lips tightly as though to keep down some bitter feeling.

"Yes, you will be rich," he said at last; "you will be only too rich."

"I really believe you mean it as a reproach," pouted the young lady, with a highly ungracious look.

"No; but it opens out one more gap between us. If you were in the same position of life as myself, I might come to you fearlessly, and ask, not for your hand at once, perhaps, but for your plighted faith, until such time as I could offer you a home of your own. As it is, what would Baron von Raven say, I wonder, if I ventured to propose to him for the hand of his ward and presumptive heiress? He stands in your father's place. You are under his authority."

"Yes; but only until I come of age. In a few years, my lord's guardianship and authority will expire together. Then I shall be free."

"In a few years!" echoed George. "And what will be your feelings then?"

There was such sorrowful apprehension in his words that Gabrielle looked up half-frightened, half-offended.

"George, do you doubt my love?"

He clasped her hand tightly in his.

"I have faith in you, my Gabrielle; trust me in return. I am not the first man who has worked his way up, and I have always been taught to look forward with confidence, and to depend on my own strength. I will strain every nerve for your sake. You shall not be ashamed of your choice."

"Yes; you will have to make me the wife of an Excellency at least," laughed Gabrielle. "I shall fully expect that you will become a Governor or a Minister some day. Do you hear, George? No other title will suit me."

George suddenly dropped the hand which still rested in his own. He had, no doubt, looked for some other answer to those fervent words which had come from the very depths of his heart.

"You do not understand me. How, indeed, should you know anything of the serious, earnest side of life! No shadow has as yet crossed your path."

"Oh, I can be serious enough," Gabrielle assured him. "Most uncommonly serious. You do not know me, my real nature, thoroughly yet."

"Possibly," said the young man, with a rush of bitterness. "In any case, I have not had power to arouse your deeper self."

Gabrielle saw very well that he was hurt, but it did not please her to notice his humour. She teased and jested on, giving full rein to her high spirits, and indulging in all her wilful little ways, sure of her influence which had often stood fiery tests, and which worked again now. The cloud dispersed from George's brow. Anger and resentfulness could not hold good before the chatter of those rosy lips, and when the dear face looked up at him, roguish and smiling, it was all over with his resistance--he smiled too.

The clocks in the town on the opposite shore began to strike twelve. The chimes rang out distinctly over the lake, warning the young people that it was time to part. George raised his darling's hand to his lips, and kissed it passionately. The near neighbourhood of the high-road and of the adjacent country houses forbade any further mark of tenderness. Gabrielle did indeed seem to take the parting lightly. For one moment a shade fell over her, it is true, and a tear even glistened in her brown eyes, but next minute all was bright and sunny again. She threw a last kiss to her faithful lover, and hurried away. George's eyes followed her until she disappeared from view.

"Max is right," he said, dreamily. "We are ill-mated, this spoilt child of fortune and I! Why must I love her, of all others, differing from me as she does in all wherein we should be most united? Why, indeed? Ah, I love her--and that is all the answer."

In spite of his indignant repudiation of it, his friend's warning seemed to have found an echo in the young man's breast; but what could reason and reflection avail against the passion that had taken possession of his whole being? He knew from experience that there was no fighting against the charm which had taken him captive on their very first meeting, and to which on each succeeding occasion he had succumbed afresh.

CHAPTER II.

"Once more I entreat your Excellency to recall these harsh measures. We cannot possibly make the town responsible for the acts of a few individuals."

"I too am of opinion that it is not necessary to proceed with such rigour. It will not be difficult to trace out the guilty parties, and to secure them."

"Your Excellency should not attach such importance to the affair. It really does not deserve it."

The Governor, Baron von Raven, to whom all these remonstrances and remarks were addressed, appeared but little moved by them. He answered with cold politeness:

"I am exceedingly sorry, gentlemen, to find myself in such direct opposition to you in this matter, but I have formed this resolution after mature consideration; besides which, you know that I never recall a measure once decided on. My instructions will be carried out."

The gentlemen assembled in the audience-room of the R---- Government-house seemed to have been engaged in a long and animated conference. They were all more or less excited, with the sole exception of the Baron himself, who leaned back in his chair with an air of imperturbable calm.

"I should have thought that my voice, being that of the chief magistrate of the town, would have carried some weight with it," said he who had first spoken. "Particularly as on this occasion the Superintendent of Police declares himself on our side."

"Certainly," assented the official alluded to; adding, however, with prudent reserve, "but I have filled my present post too short a time to be thoroughly acquainted with the local concerns. His Excellency is, no doubt, better qualified to judge than I am."

"I only fear," began the third personage, who wore the uniform of a colonel--"I only fear, Baron, that this severity may be misinterpreted, that it may be construed into alarm for your own personal safety."

A contemptuous smile played about the Baron's lips.

"Make your mind easy," he replied. "They know me too well in R---- to ascribe fear to me. That reproach will be spared me, I know, come what may."

He rose, thereby giving the signal for the breaking up of the conference.

Baron Arno von Raven, at six or seven and forty, might have been taken as a type of mature and vigorous manhood. He was still in the plenitude of his strength, physical and intellectual, and still, as was generally admitted, of a most imposing presence. There was an air of command in the very carriage of his tall and powerful form. His marked features, on which haughtiness and an indomitable energy were plainly written, could not now be styled handsome--they had indeed never been so--but they were striking and characteristic in every line. The thick dark hair was untinged with grey, except on the temples, where some silver threads denoted that life's meridian was past. The dark eyes, so full of fire, seemed, however, to tell another tale. They spoke of life in all its pristine force and vigour; but there was a stern, uncompromising look in them, and when they rested on any given object, they seemed literally to transfix it. His bearing was one of quiet dignity blended with proud reserve. Nothing in him betrayed a trace of the parvenu. The man looked as though from his earliest years he had had the habit of command.

"This is not a question of myself," he said. "So long as abuse and menaces were conveyed to me in anonymous letters, I simply consigned them to the waste-paper basket, and thought no more of them; but if bills containing threatening and seditious language are, openly and before the eyes of all the world, to be pasted up on the walls of the Government-house, if attempts are to be made to insult me when I drive out, while the more respectable citizens demonstratively refrain from interfering, it becomes my duty to take some serious steps in the matter. I hold the highest post in this province. If I suffer these misdemeanours, if I tolerate these offences directed against my person, I thereby endanger the authority of the Government, which it is my office to represent, and which I am bound to uphold under all circumstances. I repeat, Mr. Mayor, that I regret to be under the necessity of ordering certain police-regulations which may prove irksome and vexatious, but the town has only itself to thank for them."

"We know by experience that your Excellency does not allow any considerations of public convenience to influence you in such cases," said the Burgomaster, sharply. "I can do no more, therefore, than leave with you the entire responsibility of such harsh proceedings--and with this, I think, our interview may come to an end."

The Baron bowed stiffly.

"I do not know that I have ever sought to evade the responsibility of my official acts. I certainly shall not do so in this instance. Good morning, gentlemen."

The Burgomaster and the Superintendent of Police left the room, and walked together through the broad galleries towards the entrance-door. The former, a grey-haired and somewhat choleric old gentleman, could not help giving vent by the way to his long pent-up anger.

"So with all our prayers, our remonstrances, and representations, we have obtained nothing but this sovereign dictum, 'My orders will be carried out,'" said he to his companion. "This famous phrase, a favourite with his Excellency, seems to have had its effect even upon you. Your opposition was silenced by it in an instant."

The Superintendent of Police, a man much younger in years, with a keen, cunning face and extremely polite manners, shrugged his shoulders, and answered quietly:

"The Baron is at the head of the administration, and as he has declared that in any contingency he will cover me from all responsibility, I----"

"You do as he bids you," concluded the other. "After all, one cannot wonder. It is not likely you should wish to share the fate of your predecessor in office."

"In any case, I hope to show myself more competent to fulfil the duties of my post than he was." The answer was courteous, but decided. "So far as I know, my predecessor was removed on account of incapacity."

"You are much mistaken. He fell, because he was not agreeable to Baron von Raven, because he occasionally took upon himself to have an opposite opinion of his own. He had to give way, of course, before the all-powerful will which has held arbitrary sway over us for so long. The attitude assumed by our Governor to-day will have shown you better than a month in office what the situation of affairs here really is, and, if I am not mistaken, you have chosen your side already."

The last words were spoken in a very pointed manner, but the Superintendent seemed not to remark it. He only smiled affably by way of reply; and as they had now reached the door of exit, the two gentlemen parted company.

Meanwhile the Baron and his third visitor had remained closeted together. Colonel Wilten, commanding officer of the garrison stationed at R----, was a man of right soldierly appearance, yet, notwithstanding his natural advantages, enhanced as they were by his uniform and the orders he wore, he could not bear comparison with the tall and stately figure of his host in plain civilian attire.

"You really should not proceed with too great severity, Baron," the Colonel remarked, taking up the thread of the conversation when the others had left. "These perpetual conflicts with the respectable citizens are looked on with great disfavour in high quarters."

"Do you suppose the conflicts are agreeable to me?" asked Raven. "But in this case to forbear would be to show weakness, and that I hope, will hardly be expected of me."

The other shook his head dubiously.

"You are aware that I have been absent, spending a few weeks in the capital," he began anew. "During that time I mixed a good deal in ministerial circles, and I must tell you, confidentially, that opinion there is not favourable to you. You are in ill-odour."

"I know it," said Raven, coldly. "I have not shown myself docile enough, subservient enough to them; and, besides this, they cannot forgive me my plebeian origin. To stay and hinder me in my career was beyond their power; but there has never been any real cordiality towards me in those quarters."

"For which reason it behoves you to be prudent. Attempts are constantly being made to undermine your position. There is talk of 'arbitrary action,' of a 'tendency to encroachment;' and every measure adopted by you is discussed and subjected to sharp, if not malignant criticism. Do you apprehend no danger from all the intrigues which are being woven against you?"

"No, for I am too necessary in high places, and shall take good care to remain so, notwithstanding my 'arbitrary action' and 'tendency to encroachment.' I, better than any one, can estimate the difficulties of my position here. They will not so easily find another man equal to the task of governing this province, and especially this rebellious, opposition-loving city of R----. But I thank you for the warning, nevertheless; it accords perfectly with the advices I have myself received."

"Well, I thought I would give you a hint, at least," said the Colonel, rising to go. "But now I must be leaving. You are expecting visitors to-day, I hear."

"My sister-in-law, Baroness Harder, and her daughter," replied the Governor, accompanying his visitor to the door. "They have been spending a part of the summer in Switzerland, and are to arrive here to-day. I am expecting them every minute."

"I had the pleasure of occasionally meeting the Baroness in the capital some years ago," remarked the officer; "and I shall hope to renew the acquaintance at an early date. Meanwhile, may I beg you to present my best respects to the lady? Good-morning, Excellency."

Half an hour later, a carriage rolled up beneath the portico of the Government-house, and Baron von Raven came down the main staircase to receive his guests.

"My dear brother-in-law, what a pleasure it is to see you again at last!" cried a lady seated in the carriage, stretching out her hand to him with much animation and tender haste.

"I bid you welcome, Matilda," said Raven, with his customary cool politeness, as he opened the door and helped her to alight. "Have you had a pleasant journey? It was rather disagreeably warm for travelling."

"Oh, terribly! The long drive has quite shattered my nerves. We had at first intended to stay and rest a day in E----, but the longing to see our dear uncle was so strong within us, we really could not wait."

The "dear uncle" received the compliment with great indifference.

"You would have done wisely to make a halt at E----, certainly," he said. "But where is the child Gabrielle?"

That young lady, in the act of springing lightly from the carriage without waiting for his aid, flushed scarlet with indignation at this most insulting question. The Baron himself gave a slight start of astonishment, and looked long and curiously at the "child," whom he had not seen for full three years, and whose appearance now evidently took him by surprise. But his astonishment and Gabrielle's consequent triumph were of short duration.

"I am glad to see you, Gabrielle," he said quietly, and, stooping, touched her forehead with his lips. It was the same slight, formal caress which he had formerly bestowed on the maiden of fourteen, and, as he vouchsafed it, his stern, dark eyes rapidly surveyed her with one single look, sharp and penetrating, as though he would at once read the inmost workings of her mind. Then he offered his arm to his sister-in-law to lead her upstairs, and left the young lady to follow them.

The Baroness launched into a torrent of pretty speeches and affectionate inquiries, which met with monosyllabic answers alone. Her flow of words, however, was not to be checked; it only ceased on their reaching the wing wherein were situated the rooms destined to the ladies' use.

"These are your apartments, Matilda," said the Baron, pointing to the open doors. "I hope they will be to your taste. This bell summons the servants. Should anything be wanting to your comfort, I trust you will let me know. I will now leave you for a while. You must both be fatigued from your long journey, and require rest. We shall meet at dinner."

He went, visibly relieved at having accomplished the awkward and troublesome task of welcoming his guests. Hardly had the door closed behind him, when the Baroness, hastily throwing off her travelling wraps, began to inspect her surroundings. The four rooms appointed to their use were fitted up with great elegance, and even with an amount of splendour. The furniture was very handsome, the curtains and carpets being of the thickest and richest materials. In all things the habits and convenience of high-bred visitors had been consulted, and regard had been had to their every possible requirement. In short, there was no fault to be found; and Madame von Harder came back from her tour of inspection in an eminently contented frame of mind.

Presently she noticed that her daughter was still standing in the middle of the room they had first entered, not yet divested of her hat and travelling-cloak.

"Will you not take your things off, Gabrielle?" she asked. "What do you think of the rooms? There will be comforts about us here, thank Heaven! such as one is accustomed to. We shall prize them after all the hardships of our long Swiss exile."

Gabrielle paid no heed to the words.

"Mamma, I don't like Uncle Raven," said she suddenly, with the utmost decision.

The tone was so unusual, in so sharp a contrast to the young lady's habitual style, that her mother looked up in surprise.

"Why, child, you have hardly seen him!"

"Never mind, I don't like him. He treats us with an indifference, a condescension which is absolutely offensive. I can't understand how you could put up with such a reception!"

"Nonsense, dear," said the Baroness, soothingly. "It is my brother-in-law's natural manner to be formal and chary of speech. You will get accustomed to it when you know him better, and grow fond of him."

"Never!" cried Gabrielle, vehemently. "How can you expect me ever to grow fond of Uncle Arno, mamma? I have never heard anything but ill of him. You always used to say he was a horrible tyrant; papa never spoke of him except as a parvenu or adventurer, and yet neither of you ventured to be anything but friendly to him, because----

"Hush, child!" interrupted her mother, looking round in alarm to see that no one had overheard the treasonable words. "Have you forgotten that we are quite dependent on your uncle's goodness? He is implacable when he thinks himself insulted. You must never attempt to contradict him."

"Why did you all show him so much deference if he was only an adventurer?" persisted Gabrielle, obstinately. "Why did grandpapa let him marry his daughter? Why has he always been considered the leading personage of the family? I can't understand it."

"Nor I either!" exclaimed the Baroness, with a sigh. "The power that man exercises has always been inexplicable to me, as was your grandfather's predilection for him. He, with his plebeian name and his position, at that time a very subordinate one, ought naturally to have looked upon his admittance into our family as an immense privilege, as an unmerited piece of good fortune, instead of which he took it exactly as if it had been his due. No sooner had he established a footing in our house than he began to govern every one in it, from my sister down to the servants, who stood more in awe of him than of their own master. He had my father so completely under his control that nothing was done without his advice or assistance, and all the others he simply put down extinguished. How he did it I cannot say--enough that it was so; and not only in our family circle, in society and the political world he rapidly gained surprising dominion. No one ventured to oppose or thwart him."

"Well, he will not extinguish me," cried the girl, with a defiant toss of the head. "Oh, he thought he should frighten me with his great solemn eyes which seem to bore one through and through, as though they would read the most secret thoughts of one's heart; but I am not a bit afraid of him. We shall see whether he can bend me to his will, whether he will find me as pliable as he has found other people."

The Baroness grew alarmed. She feared, with good reason, that this exceedingly spoilt daughter, who ruled her mother in everything, and was by no means accustomed to put a restraint on herself, would now give the reins to her waywardness, and display it in her behaviour to the Baron himself. She exhausted all her stock of arguments and entreaties, but with no satisfactory result.

Miss Gabrielle seemed to take a peculiar pleasure in roundly expressing her defiance of her guardian, and showed herself in no way disposed to abandon the warlike attitude she had at once taken up towards him. But her serious mood had already spent itself, having lasted a most unusual length of time. The old petulant gaiety returned in full force.

"Mamma, I do believe you are in real earnest afraid of this old ogre of an uncle," she cried, with a merry laugh. "Well, I am more valiant--I shall beard the monster in his den, and I promise you he will not eat me."

CHAPTER III.

The Government-house of R---- was an ancient castle, which for long years had been the dwelling-place of a princely family, but which in the ever-changing course of events had become the property of the state, and now served as the seat of the provincial government and the residence of its temporary head. The grand, spacious old edifice was situated on a hill just outside the town, and, in spite of the prosaic destiny which had overtaken it in these latter days, still preserved much of its mediæval aspect.

A most picturesque object was it, with its salient towers and bay-windows, and its fine commanding site which overlooked all the country round. The original ramparts and fortifications had, it is true, long ago disappeared, surrendered to the march of modern progress, but in their stead a perfect forest of noble trees had sprung up, clothing the castle-hill, whence a broad and easy road led down to the town. From the windows of the noble old château, which rose, proud and stately, above the leafy crests, a full view might be had of the city and the wide valley beneath, all circled in by mountains.

The main body of the building was exclusively assigned to the Governor's use, the upper part being inhabited by him, while his bureaux, or "Chancellery," occupied the ground-floor. In the two side-wings were situated the other public offices and the quarters of such of the higher functionaries as were domiciled beneath its roof. Notwithstanding these very practical arrangements, the interior of the building, no less than the exterior, retained its antique character, which, indeed, was ineffaceably stamped on every line of its architecture.

The vaulted chambers with their deep door and window recesses belonged to the last century; long gloomy galleries and arched corridors met and crossed in every direction; echoing stone staircases led from one story to another, and the court and garden of the old stronghold were still maintained in their primitive condition. The "Castle" as it was briefly termed in all the neighbouring country, was, and had been from time immemorial, the pride and ornament of the good city of R----.

The present Governor had now filled the post for a long series of years. Had it not been a fact well known that he was the son of a subaltern official who had died early, leaving no fortune, his middle-class origin would never have been suspected, for the appearance he made in public and his style of living were as thoroughly aristocratic as his manners and person.

How it had come to pass that Raven had become the favourite of the then all-powerful Minister, no one knew. That Minister's penetrating glance had most probably detected rare ability in the young aspirant for honours.

Some pretended to know that there were other and secret reasons which had combined with this: so much is sure, he was suddenly appointed secretary to his Excellency, and in this new capacity acquired opportunities of developing his talents which he had not possessed in his former subordinate position. The secretary was soon promoted to be his master's friend and confidant, was preferred and put forward on every occasion, and even admitted into the great man's family circle. The lower rungs of the official ladder were quickly climbed, and one day society in the capital was astounded by the news, which at first seemed to be too wonderful to be believed, that the Minister's elder daughter was betrothed to the young newly-appointed Councillor. Shortly afterwards the rank of Baron was conferred on the bridegroom expectant, and therewith he was fairly launched on his career.

The son-in-law of so influential a man found his way smoothed for him in every direction, but it was not this alone which bore him aloft with such dizzy speed. His really splendid abilities seemed only now to have found, their proper field, and soon displayed themselves in a manner which made all adventitious aid superfluous. A very few years later, the "inexplicable" conduct of the Minister who, instead of opposing, had favoured the mésalliance, became sufficiently intelligible. He had taken his son-in-law's measure; he knew what was to be expected from the young man's future, and it is certain that his daughter, as Madame von Raven, played a far more brilliant part than her sister, who married a nobleman of high lineage, but of utter personal insignificance.

When the Baron was nominated to the important and responsible post of R----, he found matters there in a critical condition. The storm of faction, which some years before had convulsed the whole land, had no doubt spent itself for the time being, but signs were not wanting that it was merely repressed, and not completely and finally laid. In the ---- province especially, a perpetual ferment was kept up, and great, populous R----, the chief city of that province, stood at the head of the opposition which arrayed itself against the Government. Several high officials, succeeding each other in rapid order, had endeavoured in vain to put an end to this state of things; they lacked either the necessary resolution or the necessary authority, and confined themselves to half measures, which adjusted temporary difficulties, but left the deeper discord strong and abiding as ever. At length Raven was appointed head of the administration, and city and province soon became aware that a firmer grasp was on the reins. The new Governor went to work with an energy, and, at the same time, with a reckless disregard of such persons and interests as stood in his way, which raised a perfect storm against him. Appeals, protests, expostulations and complaints flowed in to head-quarters in one unceasing stream, but the Ministry knew too well the value of their representative not to lend him full support. Another so placed might have recoiled before the unbounded unpopularity which his proceedings brought on him, have given way, vanquished by the difficulties and vexations inherent to the situation--Raven remained at his post. He was a man who in every circumstance of life sought, rather than avoided, a contest, and the innate despotism of his nature here found ample room for its development. He troubled himself little with considerations as to whether the measures he judged necessary were strictly within legal bounds, and met all the accusations freely hurled at him, all the charges of absolutism and a violent abuse of power, with the one steady reply: "My orders will be carried out!" In this way he at length succeeded in reducing the rebellious elements to submission. Both city and province came to see that it was impossible for them to carry on the war against this man, who adopted as the rule and regulation of his conduct, not their rights, but his own might. The times were not propitious for open resistance. A period of severe reaction had set in, and any active sedition would certainly have been nipped in the bud; so the party of opposition submitted, reluctantly, indeed, and with an ill grace, but still submitted; and the Governor, who had so brilliantly accomplished his task, was loaded with honours.

Years had passed since then. People had grown accustomed to the despotic régime under which they lived, and had learned to regard the Baron with that respect which an energetic, consistent character compels even from its enemies. Moreover, to him was owing a series of improvements which his keenest opponents could not see without satisfaction. This man, whose political action had earned for him hatred and mortal hostility, became in another sphere the benefactor of the province committed to his charge. Indefatigable as its representative when any occasion offered of defending its interests, he was ever ready to introduce, or to support, such reforms as tended to promote the public weal. His resolution and strong powers of initiative, which had worked so banefully in one direction, grew most beneficent when turned to pacific account. Foremost amongst the advocates of any scheme likely to favour industrial enterprise, to befriend the agriculturist, or in any way to enhance the general prosperity, he attached many interests to himself, and thus in time rallied partisans almost as numerous as his enemies. His administration was a model of order, incorruptibility, and strict discipline, and throughout the province were visible blooming evidences of the many improvements he had planned with practical, sagacious insight, and executed with a hand which never wavered in its purpose.

The Governor lived in great style, for he possessed a considerable fortune independently of his official income. His late father-in-law had been very rich, and at his death the property had been divided between his two daughters, Madame von Raven and the Baroness Harder. The former lady's marriage had been one of those convenient matrimonial arrangements so common in the upper ranks of society. Raven had been guided in his choice simply and solely by calculation, but he never forgot that this union had opened to him his career, and his wife had at no time cause to complain of neglect or want of consideration on his part; the affection, which was so signally absent, she did not miss. Madame von Raven was a person of very moderate intelligence, and could never have inspired any serious passion. She had accepted the hand of her father's favourite, hearing it daily predicted that a great future was in store for him, and this prophecy being fulfilled, she did not feel that more was to be desired from life. Her husband responded liberally to all her demands respecting a brilliant establishment and elegant toilettes, and gave her an enviable position in society, so no differences arose between them. They lived together on what is supposed to be a very aristocratic footing, as much apart and as strange one to the other as possible. This union, a pattern one in the eyes of the world, but a childless, had been dissolved, about seven years before the events here recorded, by Madame von Raven's death; and the Baron, to whom the whole fortune descended by will, had taken to himself no second wife. The proud man, whose brain was ever busy with his ambitious plans and projects, had at no time been accessible to the soft influences of love or to domestic joys; and he would in all probability never have married, had not marriage been to him a stepping-stone by which to mount. This motive no longer existing, he did not think of burdening himself with fresh ties; and, as he was now approaching his fiftieth year, his decision on the subject was generally accepted as final.

On the morning succeeding the arrival of Baroness Harder and her daughter, the former lady was sitting with her brother-in-law in the boudoir which formed part of her suite of rooms. The Baroness still showed traces of beauty, which, however, had years ago bloomed and faded. In the evening, perhaps, by the tempered lustre of wax-lights, the numberless arts of the toilette might have produced a delusive effect; but now, in the broad glare of day, the truth revealed itself mercilessly to the eyes of the Governor as he sat opposite her.

"I cannot spare you these details, Matilda," he said; "though I quite understand how painful they must be to you. The matter must be discussed between us once, at least. By your wish I undertook the settlement of the Baron's affairs, so far as it was possible for me to settle them at this distance. They proved to be in a state of absolute chaos, and, even with the help afforded me by your solicitor, I had the greatest difficulty in mastering their complications, I have at length succeeded, and the result of my labours I communicated to you in Switzerland."

The Baroness pressed her handkerchief to her eyes.

"A comfortless result!" she said.

"But one not unexpected. There was, I regret to say, no possibility of rescuing for you even a slender portion of your fortune. I advised you to go abroad, because it would have been too mortifying to you to witness the sale of your town-house and the breaking-up of your establishment in the capital. In your absence, what was really an act of necessity took the colour of a voluntary withdrawal from society, and I have been careful that the true state of the case should not transpire among your old intimate friends and associates. Happen what may now, the honour of the name you and Gabrielle bear is safe. You need fear no attack on it from any of the creditors."

"I know that you have made great personal sacrifices," said Madame von Harder. "My solicitor wrote me all the details. Arno, I thank you."

With a touch of real feeling she held out her hand to him as she spoke, but he waved it back so coldly that any warmer impulse in her was at once checked.

"I owed it to my father-in-law's memory to act as I have acted," he replied. "His daughter and grandchild must always have a claim upon me, and their name must, at any cost, be kept free from reproach. It was these considerations which induced me to make the sacrifices, and no sentimental feelings of any sort. Sentiment, indeed, could have no ground for existence here, for, as you are aware, there was little friendship between the Baron and myself."

"I always deeply deplored the estrangement," said the Baroness, fervently. "Of later years my husband sought in vain to bring about a better understanding. It was you who persistently avoided any friendly intercourse. Could he give you a higher proof of his esteem, of his confidence, than to entrust to you that which he held most dear? On his death-bed he named you Gabrielle's guardian."

"That is to say, having ruined himself, he made over all responsibility touching the future of his wife and child to me, whose constant enemy he had been through life. I perfectly understand the value I ought to set on that proof of his confidence."

The Baroness had recourse to her handkerchief again.

"Arno, you do not know how cruel your words are. Have you no pity, no consideration for a heart-broken widow?"

Raven made no reply, but his eyes travelled slowly over the lady's elegant grey silk dress. She had promptly laid aside her mourning at the expiration of the year's widowhood, knowing that black was unbecoming to her. The unmistakable irony she now detected in her brother-in-law's glance called up to her cheeks a slight flush of anger, or of confusion, as she went on:

"I am only just beginning to hold up my head a little. If you knew what cares, what humiliations, preceded that last terrible catastrophe, what losses unexpectedly befell us on all sides! Oh, it was too horrible!"

A faint sarcastic smile flickered about the Baron's lips. He knew right well that the husband's losses had overtaken him at the gaming-table, and that the wife's one care and anxiety had been to eclipse all the other ladies of the capital by the superior richness of her toilettes and the handsome appointments of her equipages. At her father's death the Baroness had inherited the property conjointly with her sister. Her share had been squandered to the last penny, while Madame von Raven's fortune remained intact in her husband's hands.

"Enough!" he said, waiving the topic. "Let us say no more on this disagreeable subject. I have offered you a home under my roof, and I am glad that you have accepted the proposal. Since my wife's death, I have been in some degree dependent on strangers, who preside well enough over the establishment, but who cannot in all things fill the place of the mistress of the house. You, Matilda, know how to entertain, and like receptions, fêtes, dinners, and the like--now it is precisely in regard to these matters that I have felt a want. Our interests coincide, you see, and I have no doubt we shall be mutually satisfied with each other."

He spoke in his usual cool and measured tone. Evidently Baron von Raven was not disposed to glory in the rôle of benefactor and deliverer, though to these relatives of his he had really acted as both. He treated the matter altogether from a business point of view.

"I will do all in my power to meet your wishes," declared Madame von Harder, following her brother-in-law's example as he rose and went up to the window.

He addressed a few further indifferent questions to her, asking whether the arrangement of the rooms was to her taste, whether she received proper attendance and had all she required, but he hardly listened to the torrent of words with which the lady assured him that everything was charming--delightful!

His attention was fixed on a very different object.

Just under the window of that boudoir was a little garden attached to the door-keeper's lodge. In this garden Miss Gabrielle was walking, or rather racing round and round after the door-keeper's two children, for the walk had resolved itself into a wild chase at last. When the young lady that morning undertook a short excursion "to see what the place was like," as she expressed it to her mother, the place itself had but little part in the interest she manifested. She knew that George Winterfeld came daily to the Government-house, and it must be her task, therefore, to arrange some plan for those frequent meetings which George had declared to be impossible, or, at best, exceedingly difficult.

Miss Gabrielle did not adopt this view of the case, and her reconnaissance was now directed to one end and aim, namely, to discover precisely where the Baron's bureaux, in which the young official was employed, were situated. On her way, however, she fell in with the lodge-keeper's small seven-year-old boy and his little sister, and quickly made friends with both. The bright, lively children returned the young lady's advances with confiding alacrity, and these new acquaintances soon drove all thoughts of her exploring expedition, and alas! of him for whose sake it had been undertaken, entirely into the background.

She allowed the little ones to lead her into the small garden which was attached to the lodge, and was entirely distinct from the Castle-garden proper. She admired with them the shrubs and flower-beds, and the three rapidly advanced in intimacy. In less than a quarter of an hour a game was set on foot, accompanied by all the requisite noise, to which Miss Gabrielle contributed fully as much as her young playmates. She bounded after them over the beds, stimulating them to fresh efforts, and provoking them to ever-renewed gaiety.

Unbecoming as this no doubt was in a young lady of seventeen, and in the Governor's niece, to an unprejudiced beholder the spectacle was none the less charming. Every movement of the young girl's supple form was marked by unconscious, natural grace. The slight figure, in its white morning-dress, flitted like a sunbeam between the dusky trees. Some of her luxuriant blond tresses had grown loose in the course of her wild sport, and now fell over her shoulders in rich abundance, while her merry laughter and the children's happy shouts were borne up to the Castle windows.

The Baroness, looking down from her point of observation, was struck with horror at her daughter's indecorous conduct especially when she became aware that Raven was intently following the scene below. What must that haughty man, that severe stickler for etiquette, think of the education of a young lady who could comport herself in this free-and-easy manner before his eyes? The Baroness, apprehending some of those stinging, sarcastic comments in which her brother-in-law was wont to indulge, sought, as much as in her lay, to mitigate the ill impression.

"Gabrielle is wonderfully childish still at times," she lamented. "It is impossible to make her understand that such babyish ways are highly unsuitable in a young lady of her age. I almost dread her first appearance in society--which had to be postponed a year in consequence of her father's death. She is quite capable of behaving in that wild, reckless way in a drawing-room."

"Let the child be natural while she may," said the Baron, his eyes still fixed on the group below. "She will learn soon enough to be a lady of fashion. It would really be a pity to check her now; the girl is a very sunbeam incarnate."

The Baroness pricked up her ears. It was the first time she had ever heard a speech at all genial from her brother-in-law's lips, or seen in his eyes any expression other than that of icy reserve. He visibly took pleasure in Gabrielle's high spirits, and the wise woman resolved to seize the propitious moment, in order to clear up a point which lay very near her heart.

"Poor child, poor child!" she sighed, with well-simulated emotion. "Dancing on so merrily through life, and little dreaming of the serious, perhaps sorrowful, future in store for her! A well-born, portionless girl! It is a bitter lot, and doubly bitter for one who, like Gabrielle, has been brought up with great expectations. She will find this out soon enough!"

The manœvre succeeded beyond all anticipation. Raven, whom in general nothing would move, seemed for once to be in pliable mood, for he turned round and said, in a quick, decided manner:

"What do you mean by a 'sorrowful future,' Matilda? You know that I have neither children nor relatives of my own. Gabrielle will be my heiress, and therefore there can be no question of poverty for her."

A gleam of triumph shone in the Baroness's eyes, as she thus obtained the assurance she had long so ardently desired.

"You have never declared your intentions," she remarked, concealing her satisfaction with an effort: "and I, naturally, could not touch on such a subject. Indeed, the whole matter was so foreign to my thoughts----"

"Has it really never occurred to you to speculate on the chances of my death, or on the will I might leave?" interrupted the Baron, giving full play now to the sarcasm he had hitherto partially restrained.

"My dear Arno, how can you imagine such a thing?" cried the lady, deeply wounded.

He paid no heed to this little outburst of indignation, but went on quietly:

"I trust that you have not spoken to Gabrielle on the subject"--he little knew that it had been almost a daily topic--"I do not wish that she should be taught to think of herself as an heiress; still less do I wish that this girl of seventeen should make my will and my fortune the objects of her calculations, as it is, of course, quite natural others should do."

The Baroness drew a deep sigh.

"I meet with nothing but misconception from you. You even cast suspicion on the promptings of a mother's love, and misjudge her who, without fear or care for herself, trembles for the future of an only child!"

"Not at all," said Raven, impatiently; he was evidently weary of the conversation. "You hear, I consider such anxiety natural, and therefore I repeat the assurance I have just given you. My property having come to me from my father-in-law, I intend that it shall one day descend to his grandchild. Should Gabrielle, as is probable, marry during my life-time, I shall provide for her dowry; at my death she will be, as I have said, my sole heiress."

The emphasis he laid on the word proved to the Baroness that for herself she had nothing to expect. Her daughter's future being assured, however, she might look on her own as secure also, and thus her double object was attained. The hardly-veiled contempt with which Raven treated her, and which Gabrielle's fine instinct had detected in the manner of his first welcome, was by Madame von Harder either unfelt or unheeded. She had in her secret heart no more love for her brother-in-law than he for her; and in returning sweet words and gracious looks for his brusque curtness and indifference, she was merely deferring to a stern necessity; but the perspective of taking her place at the head of so brilliant an establishment, of shining in R---- as the Governor's near relative, and, in this quality, of taking precedence everywhere, soothed, and in a great measure reconciled her to this necessity.

A few minutes later Raven traversed the ante-room, which had the same aspect as the adjoining boudoir, and, stopping a moment at the window, cast one more glance below.

"Sad that the child should have fallen to such parents, and have had such a bringing-up!" he muttered. "How long will it be before Gabrielle becomes a coquette like her mother, caring for nothing but dress, intrigues, and society gossip? The pity of it!"

As has already been said, the Governor's official quarters, whither he now repaired, were situated on the basement floor of the Castle. He transacted much of his business in his own private study, but would frequently visit the bureaux of the various departments. The clerks therein employed were never safe from a sudden and unforeseen descent of the master, whose keen eyes descried the smallest irregularity. The official who was so unlucky as to be surprised in any breach of the regulations never escaped without a sharp reprimand from "the chief," who, so far as possible, directed everything in person, and introduced into his bureaux the same iron discipline which marked his general administration.

The business of the day had begun long before, and the clerks were all in their places when the Baron entered, and slightly bowing, walked through the offices. Some of the sections he merely passed through with one brief inquisitorial glance around; in others he stopped, put a question, made a remark, in several cases asking to look at a document. His manner to his subordinates was cool and deliberate, but polite, and the young men's faces showed in what awe they stood of the Governor's frown.

As the latter entered the last room of the series, an elderly gentleman, who was at work there alone, rose respectfully from his desk.

Tall and meagre of person, with a face deeply lined, and a stiff, unbending carriage, this individual bore himself with the grave dignity of a judge. His grey hair was carefully brushed, not a wrinkle nor speck of dust was visible on his black suit of clothes, while a broad white neckcloth of portentous dimensions gave to its wearer a certain peculiar solemnity of aspect.

"Good-morning, Councillor," said the Baron, with more cordiality than his manner usually showed, signing to the other to follow him into a smaller side-office, where he generally received his officials in single audience. "I am glad to see you back again. I missed you greatly during the few days you were absent."

Court-councillor Moser, chief clerk and head of the bureaucratic staff, received this testimony to his indispensability with visible satisfaction.

"I hastened my return as much as possible," he replied. "Your Excellency is aware that I only applied for leave in order to fetch my daughter from the convent in which she has been educated. I had the honour of presenting her to your Excellency yesterday, when we met in the gallery."

"It seems to me you have left the young lady rather too long under spiritual guidance," remarked Raven; "she almost gives one the impression of a nun herself. I am afraid this convent education has completely spoiled her."

The chief-clerk raised his eyebrows, and stared at his superior in dismayed astonishment.

"How does your Excellency mean?"

"I mean spoiled her for worldly purposes," the Baron corrected himself, a hardly perceptible smile hovering about his lips as he noticed the consternation depicted in the other's face.

"Ah! yes, indeed, there your Excellency is right"--the chief-clerk never neglected an opportunity of giving the Governor his title, even though he had to repeat it three times in a single sentence--"but my Agnes's mind was never given to the things of this world, and she will shortly renounce them altogether. She has resolved on taking the veil."

The Baron had taken up some papers, and stood glancing over their contents as he quietly pursued his conversation with the old gentleman, the only official whom he admitted to anything like familiar terms.

"Well, that is hardly surprising," he observed. "When a young girl is left in a convent from the age of fourteen to that of seventeen, one must be prepared for some such resolve. Does it meet with your approval?"

"It is hard for me to give up, once and for ever, my only child," said the Councillor, solemnly. "Far be it from me, however, to place hindrances in the way of so holy a vocation. I have given my consent. My daughter is to spend some months at home, to see something of the world before she enters on her novitiate in the convent where she has hitherto been at school. The Reverend Mother wishes to avoid even the slightest appearance of constraint."

"The Reverend Mother is, no doubt, pretty sure of her pupil," observed the Baron, with a touch of irony which happily escaped his hearer. "Well, if it is the young lady's own desire, there is nothing to be said against it; but I am sorry for you, who hoped to find in your daughter a support for your old age, and who must now resign her to the nuns."

"To Heaven," emended the old gentleman, with a pious upward glance; "to Heaven, before whose claims even a father's rights must necessarily give place."

"Of course, of course--and now to business. Is there anything of importance on hand?"

"The advices received from the Superintendent of Police----"

"Yes, yes, I know. They are making a great disturbance in the town about these new measures. They will have to submit to them. Anything else?"

"There is the full and detailed report to the Ministry which has already been discussed. Whom does your Excellency appoint to draw it up?"

Raven considered a moment.

"Assessor Winterfeld."

"Assessor Winterfeld!" repeated the other, slowly, and with dissatisfaction in his tone.

"Yes; I should like to give him an opportunity of distinguishing himself, or, at least, to bring him into notice. In spite of his youth, he is one of the cleverest, most able men we have."

"But not sound, your Excellency, very far indeed from sound. He has a decided liberal tendency; he leans to the opposition----"

"All the younger men do that," interrupted the Baron. "They are all red-hot reformers, eager to set the world to rights, and they consider it a proof of character to do a little in the way of opposition to the Government of their country. These ideas tone down in the course of time. Promotion generally works a cure in such cases, and I dare say Assessor Winterfeld's will be no exception to the rule."

The chief-clerk shook his head doubtfully.

"So far as regards his abilities and many personal advantages, I fully concur in the flattering opinion your Excellency has formed of him; but certain things have come to my knowledge concerning the Assessor, certain things which, I fear, indicate flagrant disloyalty on his part. It is, I regret to say, established beyond all doubt that, on the occasion of his last leave of absence, he formed in Switzerland the most suspicious connections, and consorted with all kinds of Socialists and dangerous revolutionary characters."

"That I do not believe," said the Baron, decidedly. "Winterfeld is not the man to hazard his future in so reckless and objectless a manner. His is not one of those flighty romantic natures which are easily assailable by such temptations. The story has another version, probably. I will inquire into it. As regards the report, I abide by my decision. May I ask you to send the Assessor to me?"

The Councillor went, and a few minutes later George Winterfeld entered the room. The young man knew that, in being chosen for the task now before him, an honour was conferred on him above all his colleagues, but the distinction seemed rather to weigh upon than to elate him. He received his chief's instructions with quiet attention, grasped the short, comprehensive directions fully, caught with apt intelligence the several hints which the Governor thought well to give him, and proved by a few pithy remarks that he had made himself thoroughly conversant with the subject before him. Raven had too often to fight against the dull-witted incapacity of his subordinates not to feel satisfaction at being thus met half-way, some words now sufficing to convey his meaning, whereas he was frequently obliged to stoop to long and wearisome explanations. He was visibly well-pleased. The business in hand was despatched in a comparatively short space of time, and George, having noted down some memoranda of his instructions, only waited for the signal of dismissal.

"One thing more!" said the Baron, in no way changing the quiet, business-like tone he had used throughout the interview. "You spent some time in Switzerland, I believe, during your late leave of absence."

"Yes, your Excellency."

"I am told you there sought out associates, or, at all events, formed certain connections, unsuitable to a man holding your official position. What is the truth of the matter?"

The Baron's eyes rested on the young clerk with that keen searching gaze so dreaded by those under his command. Winterfeld, however, showed neither dismay nor embarrassment.

"I sought out an old college friend in Z----," he replied, calmly; "and at his warm instance stayed some weeks at his father's house, the latter being, it is true, a political refugee."

Raven frowned.

"That was an act of imprudence I should not have expected from you. You should have reflected that such a visit would naturally excite remark and arouse suspicion."

"It was a friendly visit, nothing more. I can give my word that it had not the remotest reference to politics. This is simply and solely a private affair."

"No matter, you should take your position into consideration. A friendship with the son of a man politically compromised might be passed over as harmless, though it would hardly go to further your advancement; but intimacy with his father and a prolonged sojourn at his house should distinctly have been avoided. What is this gentleman's name?"

"Doctor Rudolph Brunnow." The words came in clear, steady tones from George's lips, and now it was his turn to watch his interlocutor narrowly. He saw a spasmodic contraction of the muscles--saw a swift, sudden pallor overspread the stern features, while the lips were tightly pressed together; but all this came and went with lightning-speed. In the next instant the man's habitual self-control prevailed. Accustomed at all times to show an impassive, impenetrable front to those about him, he at once regained his usual perfect composure.

"Ah; indeed; Rudolph Brunnow!" he repeated slowly.

"I do not know whether the name is familiar to your Excellency," George hazarded, but quickly repented of his hasty speech. The Baron's eyes met his, or rather, as Gabrielle expressed it, they bored him through and through, seeking to read the secrets of his inmost heart. There was a dark menace in that searching gaze that warned the young man to go no step further. He felt as though he were standing on the verge of an abyss.

"You are an intimate friend of Dr. Brunnow's son," Raven began again, after the pause of a second; "and therefore, in all probability, intimate with the father also."

"I only made the Doctor's acquaintance this summer, and though his views are occasionally warped by a certain harshness and bitterness, I found him an honourable and upright man, for whom I must entertain the greatest esteem."

"You would do wisely not to express your sentiments so openly," said the Baron, with frigid displeasure. "You are the servant of a State which has passed judgment on a certain class of political offenders, and still inexorably condemns them. You ought not to, and must not, consort familiarly with those who publicly proclaim themselves its enemies. Your position imposes on you duties before which all mere emotional feelings of friendship must give way. Remember that, Mr. Winterfeld."

George was silent. He understood that behind the icy calm of this address there lay a threat; understood, too, that the threat was levelled not at the official, but at the man who had been initiated into the secrets of a past which Raven had probably believed long buried and forgotten, and which now started up, phantom-like, before his eyes. Painful as it might be, the remembrance had not power to move the Baron for more than an instant. As he rose from his chair, and slightly waved his hand in token of dismissal, the old unapproachable haughtiness marked his bearing.

"You are warned now. That which has passed shall be overlooked, considered as a hasty error. That which you may do in future will be done at your own risk and peril."

George bowed in silence, and left the room. He felt now, as he had often felt before, that Dr. Brunnow had been right in warning him against the almost magic influence exercised by Raven over all who came in contact with him.

The young man, after the weighty disclosures which had been made to him, had felt he was entitled to look down from a lofty height on the traitor and the renegade; but the power to do so had gone from him as he re-entered the charmed circle surrounding that master-mind. Disdain could not hold its own before those eyes which so imperatively demanded obedience and compelled respect; it glanced off scathless from the man who carried his guilty head with so high and proud a mien, as though he recognised no judge over him or his actions.

Little as George allowed himself to be affected by the exalted position and imperious bearing of his superior, just as little could he escape the spell of that chief's intellectual ascendency. And yet he knew that sooner or later a struggle must come between himself and the Baron, who held in his hands Gabrielle's future, and, consequently, all his own chances of happiness. The secret could not be kept for ever--and what would happen when it should be known?

The image of his love rose up before the young man's eyes--of his love, of whom as yet he had caught no glimpse, though she had arrived the evening before, and at that moment the same roof covered them--and by its side appeared the iron inflexible countenance of him he had just left. Now, for the first time, he divined how severe would be the struggle by which he must hope to conquer all that he held dear in life.