Chapter XX

"Life's a tortured, booming gurge,
Winds of passion strike and urge,
And transmute to broken surge
Foam-crests of ambition.

Death, men say, is like a sea,
That ingulfs mortality,
Treacherous, dreadful, blindingly,
Full of storm and terror."
--M. FIELD.

Let us now return to the wedding festival. It was celebrated in the Hotel R----. The beautiful, spacious drawing-room had been adorned with exquisite plants and flowers, which concealed the walls, while fountains here and there rustled their melodies during the pauses of the music. Around the table, on which hundreds of wax tapers glowed in rich silver candelabra, while the rarest viands and choicest wines in the world vied with one another, sat a large company, partly of the nobility, partly of those representing the aristocracy of money--outward show concealing inward emptiness, as false hair the bald heads.

In the center sat enthroned the young bridal couple; Arnold more attentive and amiable than usual; his bride cold and stately as ever. It seemed as though the greater part of life had been spent before a mirror, in order to regulate every movement of her body, every expression of her face, after the strictest model of propriety. Had she as well, one was tempted to ask, educated and molded her heart with even a tithe of this care and consistency?

An old proverb says: "Out of one wedding two usually come." This would appear probable to-day, from all indications. Herr Von Lenkseuring had for the past six weeks been devotedly attentive to the chosen one of his heart, and Eugenie Von Kahring looked upon her suitor with no unfriendly eyes.

A trick of fate, perhaps also some human intervention, had decreed to have them both neighbors at table. That was a favorable opportunity. The young man softly whispered to his fair companion many little phrases which made her blush for joy.

Lady Von Kahring looked benignly on the pair. When Eugenie should have married this rich young man, and Arnold had just performed a deed which had produced rejoicing, then were not the wishes of her heart as well as the necessities of her house satisfied? Still she was in anxious suspense; the fortune of her step-daughter lay in a well-formed contract in her father's hands, and the embarrassments of her husband had reached their utmost limit; indeed he could scarcely wave them off until this very day, when a large sum of money was due, and must be in his hands. Surely Banker Kouzky could not deny him the favor of a loan. His honor was their honor; his daughter now bore the name of their son.

"To the one we love," said Banker Kouzky, laughingly, to his new relative Eugenie, as he leaned over the table toward her. "I think we not only have a newly wedded pair at table, but a betrothed one," he added, jestingly, to Lady Von Kahring, and in tones so loud that the neighbors of the baroness all smiled and looked at Herr Von Lenkseuring and Eugenie. The former seemed ready to receive congratulations then and there; but Eugenie begged him to speak to papa and mamma first, and not to make any announcement here. The scene passed, but not until the news had traveled the circuit of the table. But the air was stifling; all were oppressed, and, by universal consent, the table was deserted, and all withdrew to the adjoining salon. Here dance-music quickened the blood in the veins of the young people, while the older guests sought the smaller rooms or cozy corners in groups, as they found it congenial. Every one was perfectly free and unrestrained.

But what have the two old gentlemen, Baron Von Kahring and Banker Kouzky, to say so softly and earnestly to each other in yonder window-niche?--the baron growing more and more persuasive, the banker more and more cold and reserved. On the baron's forehead stand great drops of perspiration, while the banker's countenance remains as unmoved as that of a speculator when one would seek to read therein the rise or fall of stocks on the 'change. At length he remarks, icily:

"Herr Baron, do not mistake; my daughter and my money are two very different things. The one I have given; make no expectation on that account of the other."

The baron talked so earnestly it seemed as though one could hear his vehement words. It was in vain. At length he became silent and exhausted. The banker turned away smiling. Near by a game of cards was being arranged, and he said, suavely: "Shall we join this party?"

At this juncture an old general approached the two, with a wine-glass and bottle in hand:

"Baron, this is to the welfare of your house, on which has been grafted to-day a new branch."

"Long may it live!" replied the baron, accepting the glass and draining it; but his eyes were sunken and his countenance ashy.

The banker added his thanks, touched his glass to both, and laughed cordially.

The next morning Wulf was up betimes to prepare for his departure. He hoped nothing from this home-going; but he embraced it, as his only method of escape, with gratitude.

His landlady rushed into the room, pale with terror:

"Herr Ericksen! Herr Ericksen! Do you know what has happened?"

"What has happened?" inquired Wulf.

"Baron Von Kahring has committed suicide. He shot himself last night."

Wulf grasped the table. Every thing whirled in the room.

"Arnold?" he cried.

"No, the old baron. It was almost three o'clock when he returned from the wedding. An hour later his servants heard a fearful report, and hastening to his side, found him dead. So the milkman has just told me."

Away with apathy and weakness! Wulf hurried to the Kahrings. How changed every thing was! Despite the early hour, crowds of people were running hither and thither in great excitement. No servant announced him, and he passed unhindered to the baron's chamber. What a sight! Arnold and Banker Kouzky were there alone.

Poor Arnold! Slaughtered in vain. Wulf hastened toward him to embrace him, but he was repulsed. The old banker, standing coldly near, shook his head. He thought: "Could he not have taken a simple powder if he were determined upon this? That would have made no fuss and trouble like this. A physician's certificate for apoplexy might have been secured, and I should not have grudged the money for that; but----" and with an air of disgust he gazed upon the lifeless form.

The young baroness entered, and drew her husband to an adjoining room. Her heart was cold; education and custom had formed a crust of ice over it; but as this violent deed had interrupted the course of every-day life, so it also penetrated this hard coating, and the warm spring of love that exists in most women's hearts gushed forth freely. She had always been restricted and restrained by a sense of propriety, and it was well now that she could act. If we could have wished a loving hand to rest upon the old baroness, Eugenie, and Theodora, they had no reason henceforth to complain of any want of care and sympathy from Arnold's wife. Like a warm current this love fell upon her husband, and, in spite of all other thoughts, it burned his soul like fire. Had he deserved it? She, to whom he had behaved as though he had only married her for money? She, who now bore a stained name, and who must, with all her short-sightedness, realize the motives of those around her? But true love is a rose which blooms in the midst of thorns; in the springing clover fields it seldom thrives.

The first sad days over, the stunning effects were gradually relaxed; visits of condolence and letters of sympathy came from all sides. Herr Von Lenkseuring wrote that as he stood at such a distance from the respected Kahring family, he dared not intrude; but ventured to send this token of sympathy in such an extraordinarily sad calamity, etc. Lady Von Kahring received the communication in good faith, but Eugenie wept hot, bitter tears. In the very last book he had given her stood the words: "Faithful even in misfortune."

Soon after this occurrence wagons came to carry trunk after trunk to the railway-station. The young baron, with his wife, his mother, and sister, set out upon a long journey through Austria. Through the young baroness's influence her father was persuaded to accept the responsibility of settling the estate. They are now off to the far south, where we shall leave them to begin a new life; leave them for the present in the hope that, having experienced the emptiness of this world's happiness, they will strive for the higher and better way.

The once elegant apartments of the Kahring mansion stand deserted and lorn, awaiting another division of life to be enacted therein.