Chapter VII: Part 1861: ). This novel deals with the conditions in Pomerania in (6)

"You must be, if Luise thinks so. She has just given me a most charming curtain lecture."

"Great Heavens! What shall I do! Everybody worships you! Why shouldn't I be allowed to do what everybody does?"

"Because you are not everybody, because"--Carla raised her eyes; the Count was always as if intoxicated when he was permitted, unhindered by the lorgnette, to look into those blue eyes, beneath whose languid drooping lids a mysterious world of tenderness and coyness seemed to be hidden.

"Because I came too late?" he whispered passionately.

"One must not come too late, dear Count; that is the worst mistake in war, politics, everywhere. You must bear the consequences of this mistake--_voilà tout!_"

She played: "Only one year at thy side could I have wished to be, as witness of thy joy."--The Count gazed before him in silence.--"He is taking that seriously," thought Carla; "I must give him a little encouragement again."

"Why shouldn't we be friends?" she asked, extending her left hand while the right intoned: "Come dwell with me! Let me teach thee how sweet is the bliss of purest love!"

"Gladly, gladly!" exclaimed the Count, pressing a long, fervent kiss upon the extended hand. "Why shouldn't we be friends!"

"Isn't it true?--'Friendship of pure souls is so sweet!' But the world is not pure; it likes to besmirch that which shines; it demands, guarantees; give it the only possible lead in this case; get married!"

"And you advise me to do that?"

"I do; I shall have an incalculable advantage from it; I shall not lose you altogether. I cannot ask more; I do not ask more."

And Carla played with both hands: "Let thyself be made to believe there is a joy that hath no pang!"

"Great Heavens, Carla--my dear lady, do you know that something like that, in almost the same words----"

"You have just heard from Mr. Giraldi," said Carla, as the Count grew embarrassingly silent. "Just express it frankly; it will not offend me; he is the wisest of men, from whom you can conceal no secrets even if you would and--I don't wish to; you--should not wish to, either. He loves you very much; he wishes the best for you.--Believe me! Trust him!"

"I believe it," said the Count--"and I should trust him unconditionally if the union in question had not also a little bit of business flavor in it. You know I bought the Warnow estate today. I should hardly have been able to assume such a great risk, should not have assumed it at all, if they had not intimated that I should have at least half of the purchase price in the form of a dowry."

"_Fi donc!_" said Carla.

"For Heaven's sake, dear lady, don't misunderstand me!" exclaimed the Count. "It is understood, of course, that this intimation could have come from no one else in the world but Mr. Giraldi, as attorney of the Baroness----"

_Permission Ch. Sedelmeyer, Paris_ MICHAEL VON MUNKACSY]

"Spare me such things, dear Count!" exclaimed Carla; "I don't understand anything at all about them! I only know that my sister-in-law is a charming creature, and that you are a terribly blasé man, before whom every honorable girl must shudder. And now let us go into the reception room. I hear Baroness Kniebreche; she would never forgive you if you did not kiss her hand within the first five minutes!"

"Give me courage for the execution," whispered the Count.

"How?"

The Count did not answer, but took her hand from the keys of the piano, pressed a few passionate kisses upon it, and, with a movement half feigned and half real, hastened into the other room.

"But he is such a fool!" whispered Carla, looking after him over her shoulder with her lorgnette as he hastened out.

"That he is," said a voice near her.

"_Mon Dieu!_ Signor Giraldi!"

"As ever, at your service!"

"As ever, at the proper moment! You have not yet been in the reception room? Of course not! Come! Let us chat a few minutes longer. A _tête-à-tête_ with you is a much envied distinction, which even Baroness Kniebreche appreciates."

"And, besides, this respectable _tête-à-tête_ is not so dangerous as the preceding," said Giraldi, taking a seat on the sofa by Carla at the far end of the room, under a cluster of lights.--"Have you spoken to him?"

"Just now!"

"And what did he answer?"

"He understands everything, except----"

"Not all, then?"

"Stop that ironical smile; he is really not so insignificant. He is clever enough, for example, to inquire what special interest you can have in his union with Else."

"Don't be angry if I smile a little bit longer," said Giraldi.--"What did you say! The Count inquired what interest I have in the matter--he, upon whose side the entire advantage lies. Very well, I grant that the sale would have been long delayed, as the General, from pure obstinacy, and your brother, for reasons of propriety, are not willing to sell directly to a committee of speculators, and demand a go-between; I admit, further, that the Count is not only the most convenient and appropriate, but also, for us, the most profitable person, because as a neighbor he can really pay more than anybody else. But that is an advantage for us which we can most profitably equalize by other advantages which we concede to him, and with the details of which I do not wish to trouble you. Believe me, Miss Carla, the Count knows all this as well as I do; and he is only pretending to be ignorant, and consequently to be hesitating for reasons which I shall mention in order: First, it is always well that one should not see the hand which tosses fortune into one's lap--one can then be, on occasion, as ungrateful as one wishes; second, he is in love, and--who could blame him--doesn't yet consider the matter entirely hopeless, so long as you are unmarried; third, he is not at all certain that Miss von Werben will accept him, and for this uncertainty he has well-founded reasons, which his philosophy and vanity can easily fabricate."

"You have already repeatedly referred to the fondness which Else was supposed to have for the handsome sea captain. Much as I admire your penetration, dear Giraldi--this is the limit of my credulity."

"And if I produce indisputable proofs--if I have it in black and white, by the hand of Else's most intimate girl friend, that little Miss von Strummin, who left so unceremoniously in order to surprise us from the security of her island with the news of her engagement to the sculptor, Justus Anders? Please do not laugh; all that I tell you is positively true. Mr. Justus Anders, however, is the most intimate friend of the Captain; the two pairs of friends, it appears, have no secrets between them; anyhow, Miss von Strummin keeps none from her betrothed, and to him she wrote in a letter, which arrived this morning, literally----"

Giraldi had taken out of the pocket of his dress coat a dainty portfolio, and out of this a paper, which he unfolded.--

"If anybody should come, it is a letter from Enrico Braga, the sculptor, in Milan--thus writes literally as follows:

"One thing more, beloved artist, at which Lesto would bark himself
to death with delight if he could understand it, and you will be as
delighted as a child, which you are: My Else loves your Reinhold
with all her heart and soul, and that means something, for one who
knows, as I do, that she is all heart, and has the most heavenly
soul in the world. I have not the permission, and least of all the
commission, to tell you this; but we must no longer play hide and
seek with each other, you know; and must also encourage our poor
friends, which can be best done by telling them hourly that he, or
in your case, she, loves you! I have at least found it successful
with Else. Oh, beloved artist! we ought really to be ashamed to be
as happy as we are, when we remember how unhappy our friends are,
and simply because of these abominable circumstances. If I knew
the one who invented these conditions, I should like to tell him a
thing or two, you bet."

"That is indeed wonderfully interesting, and will interest the Count immensely!"

"No doubt," said Giraldi, putting the sheet back in his portfolio.--"By the way, what a noble soul you are, indeed, not to ask from whom I got the letter! But I think we will not make it known till we are sure of one thing."

"Of what?"

Giraldi leaned over to Carla and looked straight into her eyes.--

"That you would not finally prefer to make Count Axel von Golm happy by offering your hand to him instead of to Ottomar von Werben."

"You are horrible, Signor Giraldi, do you know it?" said Carla, striking Giraldi's hands with her handkerchief.

"If you say so!--For see, dear lady; that communication of Else's maritime affections and relations would finally induce the Count to give up his suit, and hitherto we have been of the opinion that it would be most convenient for all parties concerned to marry him to Else. If you want him yourself--and so it appears--now it can be brought about; only I should not be overhasty in your case. We can prolong the game as long as we wish. And why should you not wish to drain the sweetness of the betrothal period to the last drop--the more as Ottomar--the truth does not offend noble souls--hardly knows how to appreciate the true worth of the happiness which awaits him in the arms of the most charming and gifted of women."

"That is to say, if I am not mistaken," said Carla, "Ottomar must do as you wish; you have him in your power. Now, dear friend, I know how powerful your hand is; but I confess I do not understand where the power lies in this case. That Ottomar has had mistresses, presumably still has--well, I, too, have read my Schopenhauer, who says nothing of monogamy, because he was never able to discover it; and I do not wish to be the woman who finds her lover less interesting because he is interesting to other women. His debts? _Grands Dieux!_ Tell me one who has none! And my brother says it is really not so bad. My brother insists upon hastening our wedding, and now my sister-in-law does, too. The General himself is, as you know, uncomfortably persistent in the pursuance of his plans, and society would be beside itself if we were not on our bridal tour by the beginning of March; on the fifteenth Ottomar is to take up his appointment in St. Petersburg."

"If we agree in other things, let us make our arrangements accordingly," replied Giraldi; "by the middle of February you will find that your delicately sensitive nature is no longer equal to the demands of the season, that you needs must have, before entering upon the new chapter of your life, composure and quiet which the city cannot give you, which you can find only in the seclusion of the country. And it fortunately so happens now that, at the same time, my dear friend, the Baroness, impelled by need of rest, is seeking quiet in the seclusion of Warnow. I have reserved the castle and park of the Count, who is the owner of the estates since this morning, for the months of February and March, expressly for this purpose. He will be delighted to learn that Miss von Wallbach wishes to share the retirement of the aunt of her betrothed. Not alone! The Baroness will be accompanied, at her urgent request, by Miss Else. Note that! The Count, whose business at this time--of first importance, the building of the harbor at Warnow--will make it necessary for him to sojourn in the country, will do all in his power to enliven the loneliness of the ladies. Your brother--I myself--we shall come and go. What a spectacle, to observe the awakening of spring in the country, on the shore of the sea, perhaps also dear Else's silent fondness for the man of her choice, who, in his new position--he has been for some days Pilot Commander--I believe that is what they call it--in Wissow, will be just as far from Warnow as the Count is from the castle! What do you think of my little plan?"

"Charming!" said Carla--"_À deux mains!_ But can it be carried out?"

"Let that be my concern. Only give me your two pretty hands to assure me that you will support me."

"Here they are!"

"And I press upon both of them my lips as a seal of ratification."

"Now I must venture to interrupt your _tête-à-tête_," said von Wallbach, entering from the reception room.--"The company is complete; only Ottomar, whose companionship we must forego, and the Baroness are wanting."

"I forgot to state," said Giraldi, greeting von Wallbach, "the Baroness wishes me to excuse her--an indisposition--her overwrought nerves----"

"Oh!" said von Wallbach, "what a pity! Would you have the kindness, Carla, to tell Luise? It will make no further disturbance, as I was to conduct the Baroness; you, Mr. Giraldi, Baroness Kniebreche has requested to accompany her."

Giraldi bowed; Carla went out.

"One moment," whispered von Wallbach, drawing Giraldi back by the arm, "I am glad, very glad, that the Baroness is not coming. This is a day of surprises. This morning, Golm, to the unspeakable astonishment of all of us--Lübbener can't compose himself yet--paid down in one lump the half million; the concession, for whose publication we should have had to wait weeks, as there was always a question of the security, will be printed tomorrow in the _Staatsanzeiger_--yes, yes, my dear Sir, you may depend upon it! I have it with absolute certainty from Privy Councilor von Strumm, who only begs that we shall not betray him.--It is to be a delightful surprise for us, coming from the Minister; and--and--dear friend!--I am not easily disconcerted, but _c'est plus fort que moi_--from the same absolutely reliable source I learn that the General does not appear in the Army promotions, which are likewise to be published tomorrow."

"That means?" asked Giraldi.

"That means that he has been passed over, that he--according to our notions--must retire for the sake of appearances."

"How strange!" said Giraldi.

"So it is, and can't be otherwise," continued von Wallbach with emotion; "I should be able to understand the step, indeed, the necessity of it, if only by removing him our matter could be put through; as it is, however, as we have the concession in our pocket without that----"

"An unnecessary cruelty," said Giraldi.

"Isn't it? And one that will have other consequences. I prophesy that Ottomar will not go to St. Petersburg."

"That would be more than cruel--that would be ridiculous," said Giraldi.

"You don't understand our conditions; our people are very consistent in such things."

Giraldi was spared the answer. In the door of the reception room appeared, leaning on Carla's arm, the bent form of an old lady, who moved to and fro a gigantic black fan, and exclaimed with a loud metallic voice: "If Mr. Giraldi doesn't come to old Kniebreche, old Kniebreche must come to Mr. Giraldi."

"I come on wings!" said Giraldi.

* * * * *

[Reinhold comes to take leave of the Werbens, hears the news that the General has not been promoted, finds Else depressed. Else pours out her heart concerning Ferdinande, her father and Ottomar, and his betrothal to Carla. Reinhold declares he loves her, and holds her in his embrace. Else kisses her compass, her talisman, and slips it back into her pocket.

Reinhold starts for Sundin to report and take his post at Wissow. At the railroad station Justus tells Reinhold of his betrothal to Mieting, but fears that Mieting's father may change his mind. Reinhold assures Justus that there is no danger of Strummin getting rich from the concession, that the railroad must be a failure, and Strummin will be glad enough to have him as a son-in-law. Justus declares that he has produced nothing worth while since he has been in love--"Oh! this love, this love!" Uncle Ernst has been elected to the city council and will be elected next year to the Reichstag. Reinhold's train moves off. Ottomar is on board, and expects to be the guest of Golm in the spring. The President enters the coupé where Reinhold is. He is much excited, having been in Berlin protesting against the concession. The whole railroad situation is ventilated. The President recalls Reinhold's first prophecy of the storm flood.

Madame and Miss von Wallbach, Else and Golm, are at dinner at Castle Warnow as the guests of Valerie. Golm's advances to Else are repelled, and he makes slighting remarks about Reinhold. Else defends Reinhold and leaves the room in disgust. Golm protests to Madame von Wallbach that Reinhold will probably object even to the removal of the dunes, because they are necessary for protection. Madame von Wallbach is disgusted at the failure of the match between Golm and Else, and threatens to go home. Golm now turns his attentions to Carla, asks her to take a ride, and steals a kiss. Carla and Else have an altercation about Ottomar and Golm, Carla having learned from Giraldi of Ottomar's relations to Ferdinande. Madame von Wallbach tells Carla she need not object to Ottomar's mistresses, for all men have them, nor to his debts, for Golm has debts too. Strummin asks Golm for the money he had loaned him, which is now needed to set up Mieting. Golm and Carla ride off alone.

Else, fatigued and disturbed, starts out for a walk in the open, while her aunt Valerie lies in a sleepy stupor in her room. Else comes through the portière just in time to see Golm kiss Carla. She now considers the bond between Carla and Ottomar broken. She contrasts their relations with her own to Reinhold, and longs to see Reinhold. She goes into the park whose regular lines oppress her. She wanders on till she comes to the Pölitz house, where she learns that little Karl, who was sick when she was there before, has died. The Pölitz family is in a bad plight, reflecting the evil character of the Count. Else listens to the sad stories of Mrs. Pölitz and her sister-in-law, Marie, whom Golm has seduced, and hurries on to Wissow Hook to see Reinhold.]

* * * * *

Mrs. Pölitz had said it was an hour's walk to Wissow Hook, but it seemed to Else as if the very winding way would never end. And yet she walked so fast that she left the little empty hay wagon just as far behind her as it was ahead of her at the start. The wretched vehicle was the only sign of human activity; otherwise the brown plain lay as bare as a desert as far as the eye could reach; not a single large tree was to be seen, only here and there a few scattered willows and tangled shrubbery on the ditches, which ran this way and that, and a broader, slowly flowing brook constantly widening, which she crossed on an unsafe wooden bridge, without a railing. The brook must have come from the range of hills to the right, at the base of which Else saw, in striking contrast, the buildings of the other two Warnow estates, Gristow and Damerow. Swinging around in a great bend, she gradually ascended to Wissow Hook, which lay directly before her, while the plain to the left extended without the least undulation to the lower dunes, lifting their white crests here and there above the edge of the heath. Only once a leaden gray streak, which must be the sea, although Else could scarcely distinguish it from the sky, appeared for a few minutes in an opening through which the brook may have had its source.

For the sky above her too was a leaden gray, except that it seemed somewhat darker above the sea. In the east, then above the hills toward the west, and along the leaden gray vault here and there, scattered white spots floated, like powder smoke, motionless in the still air. Not the slightest breeze was stirring, and yet from time to time a strange whisper crept through the waste as if the brown heath were trying to rouse itself from deep sleep, and a soft, long continued sound of sadness could be heard through the heavy murky air, and then again a boundless stillness, when Else thought she could hear her heart beat.

But almost more terrible than the silence of the waste was the cry of a flock of gulls, which she had scared up from one of the many hollows of the heath, and which now, flying to and fro in the gray air, with the points of their bills turned downward, followed her for a long time, as if in raging anger at the intruder on their domain.

Nevertheless she walked on and on, faster and faster, following an impulse that admitted no opposition to her determination, which was even stronger than the horror which seemed to come over her from the sky and ground, like the breath of spirits threatening and warning with demon voices.--And then yet another terrible dread! Even from the far distance--at the foot of the mountain promontory, rising higher--she had noticed dark, moving points, as she convinced herself, now that they were coming nearer--laborers, several hundred, who were carting dirt and filling in an apparently endless dam, which had already reached a considerable height. She could not avoid crossing the dam, and if she did not wish to make a détour she must intersect the long line of carters. This she did with a friendly greeting to those nearest to her. The men, who were already sufficiently bothered, stopped their carts and glared at her without returning her salutation. When she had gone a short distance further, shouts and coarse laughter resounded behind her. Turning involuntarily, she saw that a few of the band had followed her and did not stop until she turned--checked, perhaps, only by the noise which the others made. She continued her way almost running. There was now only a narrow path over the short parched grass and across the broad strips of sand with which the ascending slope of the promontory was covered. Else said to herself that she could be seen by the men until she reached the top, might be followed by them at any moment, or if she turned back--the twilight had settled about her, the men perhaps had stopped work for the day, and there was no overseer to hold their coarseness in check, the rude men having the whole endless plain as far as Warnow to insult, scare and annoy her--should she turn about at once while there was time, ask for an overseer to accompany her, perhaps try to have the hay wagon, which she had overtaken a while before and was now nearing the laborers, carry her on, or another wagon which from her elevation she discovered far in the distance and which must have followed her!--There was only the one way over the heath.

While Else was thus considering, as if drawn by magic she hastened with beating heart up the slope, the upper edge of which was clearly distinguishable from the vault of the sky by an even line rising toward the sea. With every step the sea and the chains of dunes extended farther to the left; now her glance swept out to where the misty sky met the misty sea, and beyond the beautifully arched curve of the coast to wooded Golmberg, which had a threatening look against the blue-black background. Above the tree-tops, huddled in a vague mass, loomed the tower of the castle. Between Golmberg yonder and the height on which she stood--inhospitable as the sea itself, from which she was separated only by the yellow border of the dunes--the brown plain she was traversing; the only habitation of man--the fisher village of Ahlbeck, which now, hard by the foot of the promontory, lay almost at her feet. Yonder too, on the broad beach between the houses and the sea, extended long moving lines of workmen up to the two moles which, with their ends pointing toward each other, extended far into the sea. At the moles were a few large craft which seemed to be unloading, while a fleet of fishing-boats all moved in the same direction toward the shore. They had reefed their sails, and were being propelled only by oars. The even position of the brown sails and the uniform motion of the oars of the fishing boats were in strange contrast with the confused disorder of the white gulls, which a while ago had circled above her and now flew ceaselessly at half the elevation between her and the shore.

All this she saw, however, with the keen eye of a falcon, as a traveler on the train mechanically observes the details of the landscape he is passing, while his thoughts have long been at home, tasting the joys he will experience at sight of the loved ones from whom he has so long been separated. She dared not hope to look into his dear eyes, to grasp his dear hands in hers, to hear the sound of his strong, yet gentle voice. She wished only to see the place where he lived.

And even this slight consolation, she thought, should be guarded. She had already gone in the same cross direction, some distance on the ridge of the hills, without obtaining a view of the other side where Wissow must be located--only a view over the edge of the plateau, a leaden gray. Perhaps if she followed the broader road which she was now approaching, and which, coming from the right, led to a pile of great boulders, whence a tall signal staff arose, and which must have been built on the top of the ridge--presumably also on the extreme edge of the promontory----!

As a matter of fact, as she ascended higher and higher a pale streak appeared over to the right--the coast of the continent--then again the leaden gray surface of the sea, upon which a sail could be discerned here and there; finally, on this side, immediately below her, a white point of dunes, which gradually grew wider in the shape of a wedge toward the promontory, till it became a small flat peninsula, in the middle of which a dozen small houses lay on the brown heath among the dunes--that was Wissow! That must be Wissow!

And now that she stood on the point which she had striven with all her physical and mental strength to reach, and, however longingly she extended her arms, the goal of her longing still lay so far, so unattainably far from her--now for the first time she thought she understood the silent dreadful speech of the waste, the loneliness about her, the rustling whisper of the heath, the voices of spirits wailing in the air: Alone! Alone! Unspeakable sorrow arose in her heart; her knees shook, she sank near the boulders upon a stone, covered her eyes with her hands and broke into loud crying, like a helpless, abandoned child.

She did not see a man, who was leaning against the signal staff observing the sea, startled by the strange sound near him, come from behind the boulders; she did not hear him coming up to her with hurried steps across the narrow grass plot.----

"Else!"

She started up with a stifled shriek.

"Else!"

And then she cried aloud--a cry of wild joy, which echoed strangely through the noiseless stillness--and she lay on his breast, clung to him, as one drowning.

"Reinhold! My Reinhold!"

She wept, she laughed, she cried again and again, "My Reinhold!"

Speechless for joy and astonishment at the precious miracle, he drew her to him upon the rock on which she had sat; she pressed her head upon his breast.

"I so longed for you!"

"Else, dear Else!"

"I had to come, I could not do otherwise; I was drawn hither by spirit hands. And now I have you, you! O never leave me again! Take me with you down to your house yonder. There is my home! With you! With you! Do not thrust me out again into the dreary, loveless, false world there behind me! Only with you is joy, rest, peace, truth, fidelity! O your dear, true heart, how it beats; I feel it! It loves me as I do you! It has yearned for me as my poor shattered heart has for you, for you!"

"Yes, my Else, it has yearned for you, unspeakably, beyond measure. I climbed up here, because it had no peace; I only wished to cast a glance out there where I knew you to be--a last look, before----"

"Before? For Heaven's sake!"

He had led her the few steps to the boulders and now stood, throwing his arm about her, close to the edge of the promontory, whose sullen front was so steep that she seemed to be floating in the air above the gray sea.

"See, Else, that is the storm! I hear it, I see it, as if it were already let loose! Hours may yet pass, but it will come, it must come--as all signs indicate--with fearful violence. The metallic surface there below us, stirred into raging waves, will dash its foam up to this height! Woe to the ships which have not sought shelter in the harbor, perchance there to be secure against its wild fury! Woe to the lowlands down there below us! I wished to write to you about it this morning, for I saw it even yesterday, and tell you it would be better for you to leave Warnow; but you would not have gone if I had."

"Never! I am too proud that you trust me, that you have told me this! And when the storm breaks loose, and I know that your precious life is exposed to danger--I will not tremble; and, if I fear, surely I will not despair. I will say all the time: 'He could not fail to do his duty, or to be the brave man whom I love; what if he thought that I were weeping and wringing my hands, while he has to command and steer as on that evening!' Do you know, my love, do you know that I loved you then? And do you know that you said to me that I had eyes like a seaman? O how well I remember every word; every look! And how happy I was that I did not have to give the compass back to you at once; I did not wish to keep it, you were to have it back again----"

"Then you were more honorable than I, dear! I was determined not to give the glove back to you. You had taken it off when you looked through my telescope; it lay on the deck. I picked it up; it has accompanied me so faithfully ever since--do you see? It has been my talisman! Seamen are superstitious; I swore not to part with it till I held your hand in mine forever, instead of the glove." He kissed the little blue-gray glove before he put it back into his breast-pocket.

They had again seated themselves upon the rock, caressing, whispering fond words, jesting in happy phrases, pressing heart to heart and lips to lips, forgetful of the desolate waste in the blissful paradise of their young love, forgetful of the darkness which became more dense, forgetful of the storm which was brewing in the leadlike air over the leadlike sea, like the angel of destruction brooding over a world which he finally hopes to destroy forever and to hurl back into primeval chaos.

A sullen, rolling, trembling sound in the distance caused them to stop and listen; suddenly a roaring sound penetrated the air, without their noticing, even at this elevation, any motion, and this was again followed by an absolute stillness. Reinhold jumped up.

"It is coming faster than I thought; we have not a moment to lose."

"What are you going to do?"

"Take you back."

"That you must not do; you must remain at your post of duty; on that account you did not go to Warnow today; how could you now go so far, when the peril is so much nearer? No, no, dear; do not look at me with such concern! I must learn to live without fear, and I am going to do it; I have determined to do it. No more fear from this moment on, not even of men! I can no longer live without you, and you can no longer live without me. If I did not know it before, I know it now; and, believe me, my noble father is the first that will understand it. Indeed, he must have felt it when he told me what he wrote to you: 'I place your fate in your own hands.' Ottomar and your aunt share my inheritance; my proud father would not take anything from me, and you--you take me as I am, and lead me down there forever! One more glimpse of my paradise, and one more kiss! And now, farewell, farewell!"

He embraced her fondly, and was about to let her go; but he held her hand fast in his.

"It is impossible, Else; it is growing dark up here; in half an hour it will be night down there. You are not safe on the road, which cannot be distinguished from the heath, and the heath is full of deep moors--it is simply impossible, Else!"

"It must be possible! I should despise myself if I kept you from your duty; and how could you love me and not feel your love a burden if I did so? How do you know that you will not be very soon, perhaps are even now, needed down below? And the people are standing helpless, looking for their commander! Reinhold, my love, am I right or not?"

"You are indeed right; but----"

"No but, dear; we must part."

Thus speaking, they went hand in hand, with hasty steps, down the path by which Else had ascended, and stood now at the cross-path which led in both directions--to the Warnow heath over here, and to the Wissow peninsula over there.

"Only to the foot of the hill, till I know you are on the right road," said Reinhold.

"Not a step farther! Hark! What was that?"

He, too, had heard it--a noise like that of horses' hoofs, which struck in swiftest pace upon the hard ground behind the hill rising in their rear and making impossible a further view of the ridge of the promontory, which sloped more rapidly at that point. The next moment a rider came in sight over the hill. He was now at the top, stopped his horse, stood up in his stirrups and appeared to be looking about him.

"It is the Count!" said Else.

A deep flush came into her face. "Now, you will have to accompany me for a little distance," said she. "Come!"

She took his arm. At that moment the Count, who had looked beyond them, to the hill, turning his eyes downward, saw them both. He gave his horse the spurs, and, galloping down the slope, was with them in an instant. He had already seen Reinhold, doubtless, but as he checked his horse and lifted his hat his face did not show the slightest trace of astonishment or wonder; he seemed rather not to notice Reinhold at all, as if he had met Else alone.

"That I call good fortune, Miss Else! How your aunt will rejoice! She is waiting over there; the carriage couldn't go farther----"

He pointed with the butt of his whip over the hill.

"My Heavens, Miss Else! Even if you look at me twice as astonished! Your aunt is worried because you have been away so long.--Messengers in the neighborhood heard of Pölitz that you had come hither--strange notion, Miss Else, by Heavens!--your aunt insisted upon coming herself--stayed behind with Miss von Wallbach--offered to accompany her--most despairing--astounding luck! Beg permission to accompany you to the carriage, not two hundred paces."

He leaped from the saddle and took his horse by the bridle-rein.

Reinhold looked Else straight in the eye; she understood and answered the look.

"We're very grateful to you, Count," said he, "but shouldn't like to try your kindness a moment longer than is necessary. I shall accompany my betrothed myself to the Baroness."

"Oh!" exclaimed the Count.

He had rejoiced in advance over the utter confusion which, in his opinion, the discovered lovers must have felt in his presence, and which would shock the Baroness if he could tell her in whose company he had the good fortune to find her niece. For, that the fellow would traipse down to Wissow with an expression of stammering embarrassment, he assumed as a matter of course, now that he had gone so far. And now! He thought he had not heard aright, he could hardly believe his eyes, when Else and the fellow, turning their backs upon him as if he were not there, walked on arm in arm. With a leap he was back in the saddle.

"Then allow me, at least, to announce the happy event to the Baroness!" he exclaimed ironically, lifting his hat as he passed, and hurrying ahead of them up the hill, beyond which he soon vanished.

"The wretch!" cried Else. "I thank you, Reinhold, that you understood, that you have freed me forever from him, from all of them! You cannot imagine how thankful I am and why I am so thankful to you! I will not now burden you, dear heart, with the hateful things which I have experienced; I shall tell you another time. Come what may, I am yours and you are mine! This joy is so great--everything else is small and insignificant compared with it!"

An open carriage was standing a short distance from them and by it a rider. They thought it was the Count, but coming nearer they saw that it was a servant. The Count had vanished with a scornful laugh, after communicating the great discovery to the Baroness, and receiving only the answer, "I thank you, Count, for your escort thus far!" The two last words had been spoken with special emphasis and, lifting his hat again, he rode off at a gallop from the road over the hills.

The Baroness left the carriage and came to meet the lovers. Else released Reinhold's arm and hastened to meet her aunt; she told all that was necessary by impulsively embracing her. As Reinhold came up the Baroness extended her hand to him and said in a voice full of emotion, "You bring me the dear child and--yourself! Then have double thanks!"

Reinhold kissed the trembling hand.--"It is not a time for many words, Baroness," said he, "and what I feel your kind heart knows. God's blessing upon you!"

"And upon thee, my Reinhold!" exclaimed Else, embracing him; "God's blessing! And joy and happiness!"

He helped the ladies into the carriage; one clasp of her dear hand, and the company was off, the servant riding ahead.

Notwithstanding the hilly ground, as the road was good and the ground firm, they could ride sufficiently fast even here upon the hill, and Reinhold had urged all possible haste. Only a few minutes had passed when the carriage had vanished from his sight behind the hills; when it reached the plain below, and became visible again, half an hour had elapsed. He had not time to wait for that; he must not lose a minute more.

Down in Wissow the beacons were already lighted; at this moment the signal for a pilot blazed up from the sea. They would answer promptly--he knew they would; but a new situation might come any moment which would require his presence; and it would take him a quarter of an hour at a full run to get down there.

He ran down the hill in long bounds, when a rider appeared right before him in a hollow of the ground, which extended to the right in a deep depression along the length of the promontory, and stood on the path. It happened so suddenly that Reinhold almost ran into the horse.

"You seem to be in a very great hurry, now," said the Count.

"I am in a great hurry," replied Reinhold, breathless from his rapid running--and was about to go past the head of the horse; but the Count pulled the horse around so that his head was toward Reinhold.

"Make room!" exclaimed Reinhold.

"I am on my own ground," replied the Count. "The road is free, and you are for freedom of all sorts."

"Once more--Make room!"

"If I wish to do so."

Reinhold seized the bridle of the horse, which reared high from the sharp spurs in his flank; Reinhold reeled backward. The next moment he drew his long knife, which as a seaman he always carried with him.

"I should be sorry for the horse," he exclaimed, "but if you will not have it otherwise----"

"I only wished to say 'Good evening, Commander'--I forgot it a while ago; Good evening!"

The Count lifted his hat with scornful laughter, turned his horse about again, and rode off to one side of the valley from whence he had come.

"That kind won't learn anything," muttered Reinhold, shutting his knife again. It was a word that he had often heard from his Uncle Ernst. As he felt now, so must Uncle Ernst have felt in that moment when the dagger came down upon him--the dagger of her father. "Great Heavens!" he reflected. "Is it true then that the sins of the father are visited upon the children? That this combat, handed down from generations, was to continue forever? That we ourselves, who are guiltless, must renew it against our will and our convictions?"

A sound of thunder, still in the distance, but clear, louder and more threatening than before, rolled through the heavy air; and again a gust of wind followed it--this time no longer in the upper air, but raging along the hill and the slopes of the promontory, echoing with screeches and groans in the ravines. The next gust might strike the sea, letting loose the storm which would bring the flood.

There was another storm for which human machinations appear as child's play, and human hate as an offense, but one feeling remains victorious--love! That Reinhold felt in the depth of his heart, as he hastened downward to redeem the minutes which had been foolishly lost, to risk his life if it must be, in spite of it all, for the lives of other men.

* * * * *

[Valerie having heard of the reason for Else's absence starts out to look for her. Golm discovers Else and Reinhold and spreads the news of their betrothal. Else writes a hasty note to her father, telling him all. Upon Else's return, Valerie expresses her sympathy, and tells her the long sad story of her life. Valerie had loved her deceased husband with a boundless love, but was carried away by a passion for Signor Giraldi, before she was married to von Warnow. The early years of her married life had been spent largely in travel; but still her heart was ill at ease. On their journeys they came to Rome, where Valerie met Giraldi again, coming hopelessly under the spell of his magic power. In the midst of it all her husband dies, leaving a strange, complicated will, which disinherited the children of the General, her brother, in case they should marry outside of the nobility. After her husband's death she had Giraldi as counselor and companion, and manager of her affairs.

The storm has raged all day through the streets of Berlin, and a financial storm, still more fierce, has been raging in the Exchange, shaking many a proud countinghouse to its foundations by the wild speculation in stocks. The Berlin-Sundin railway has been the storm centre, and Philip Schmidt, the great promoter, has been making full use of the French proverb, _sauve qui peut_. It is the evening of the ball at Philip's new house; guests, many and mighty, throng the burgher palace of the young promoter, whose democratic motto is to bring together poets and kings, artists and speculators. Even the venerable Baroness Kniebreche was all curiosity to see the luxury and the motley throng. The Wallbachs, the Werbens, Golm, Lübbener, Justus and Mieting, Krethe and Plethe, all are there. Toasts are drunk, speeches are made, wine flows freely, and spirits run high. The air is charged with financial and social gossip. Giraldi expects Ottomar's engagement with Carla to be broken. A duel between Ottomar and Wallbach is impending. If Valerie consents on the morrow to Giraldi's plans, there will not be left one stone of the Werben fortune upon another--dallying, temporizing, diplomatizing are the order of the day. Antonio watches Ottomar and disturbs Giraldi's mind. Schieler declares Golm a ruined man, and engages with Lübbener, who is pale with concern, in conversation about Philip. Giraldi has just drawn the last fifty thousand from Haselow, making it impossible for Haselow to help Lübbener.

Philip excuses himself to Baroness Kniebreche for a few minutes, to move around among the guests. He comes upon Lübbener and Schieler in a corner, addresses Lübbener as "Dear Hugo," and tells him that this splendor is all due to him. At the close of a laudatory speech in honor of Philip, an officer, whom Lübbener has ordered, comes in to arrest Philip. Philip seizes Lübbener by the wrist, telling him he shall pay for it. Philip and the officer, Müller, leave the company and go upstairs, that Philip may change his clothes. They pass through one room after another until they reach Philip's bedroom. While Philip changes the officer sits and waits; he hears a rustle, but suddenly all is quiet. The time grows long. He goes to the door, only to find Philip gone and himself a prisoner. It is announced that Philip has had a stroke. The police rescue the officer. The ball breaks up. Ottomar quarrels with Wallbach, and is to give notice in the morning. Antonio is in evidence and threatens to stab Ottomar, but Bertalde interposes.

Von Wallbach writes to the General that he cannot accept Ottomar's challenge to a duel until Ottomar can clear his record of the reported scandal. Captain von Schönau offers to help the General pay Ottomar's debts, but Colonel von Bohl comes to inform the General that Ottomar's notes are all forged, that Giraldi had been paying Ottomar's notes as they came due, and promised to pay the twenty thousand, but had drawn the half million from the bank, and left during the night for Warnow. The General, instead of signing the order to pay Ottomar's debts, tears it up, sends Ottomar one of his brace of pistols, and loads the other to shoot the devil who lured his son into shame.

Ottomar is at the lodging of Bertalde, who goes to fetch Ferdinande. Ottomar plans to go to America, which Bertalde says is all nonsense. She declares Ottomar is not going to leave her room, and that Ferdinande shall stay with him--"these men act like children with their silly honor." Ferdinande writes a note to her father, and gives it to Cilli to deliver.

Cilli finds Uncle Ernst in a bad state of mind, but his heart warms as he sees the blind girl, who delivers the letter and pleads for Ferdinande. She starts home by way of the studio, and kneels down before Justus' statue of Mieting.

Justus and Mieting are looking for furniture to set up housekeeping, and find a bargain at Isaac Lobstein's. On the way back they chat of all sorts of things, and speak of Cilli, for whom, Mieting says, they must provide, because Justus would have married her if she hadn't been blind and he so ugly! They return to the studio and find Cilli dead before Mieting's bust.

The General is at the station to take the train for Sundin on the way to Warnow. The storm has interfered with traffic, and the General is frantic. Uncle Ernst is likewise waiting for a train to Sundin. He has engaged a special, and invites the General to ride with him. Uncle Ernst pours out his soul to the General, and pleads for the children; but the General replies that all are biased by tradition in judging their fellowmen. The special train for Uncle Ernst is announced. A message from Else is handed to the General: "Come by the next train. Fearful storm. Shall perhaps have to go to Reinhold. Aunt will then be left alone with the terrible man. Come for my sake, for Ottomar's sake, for Aunt's sake, who has thrown herself on our protection. Everything is at stake. Else."

Madame von Wallbach insists upon going home, as Carla is committed to Golm, and they can no longer be the guests of Ottomar's friends. But Valerie cannot send them, because she wishes to accompany Else to Wissow Hook. The tenant, Damberg, repeats Reinhold's statement that "if the wind comes from the east there will be a bad storm flood." Valerie starts for Wissow. As they hear the surf breaking on the dunes, Else shrinks at the thought of Reinhold being in such peril. Valerie comforts her.

Giraldi arrives at Warnow, much the worse for the stormy journey. Madame von Wallbach tells him what he is, and what she thinks of him, and informs him that Valerie is going to look out for Else and Ottomar and will them her property. He is disconcerted by the calm disclosure of his schemes by what he has hitherto thought an insignificant woman. He bribes François to spy for him secretly, and sends him to Valerie in Wissow with a letter, charging her with having fled from him, and demanding that she return by six o'clock. Giraldi rages about the weather, "made for barbarians," while the storm shakes the castle. Count Golm sends back his jockey to get a handkerchief for Carla, while he and Carla ride on over the dunes toward the sea. The jockey declares that they will not be heard from before tomorrow, as he knows the Count and his wiles.

As the jockey rides back the Count begins his game, kisses Carla, and disarranges her hat; he excuses his conduct, as this is the first time he has been alone with the prettiest girl in the world. Carla is intoxicated with delight, and, as the Count suggests they may have to remain alone, she replies: "An eternity--with you!" She makes him swear that he will declare their engagement in the presence of Valerie, Else, and Giraldi, and will marry her within four weeks. He swears, with reservation, by his honor, but begins to ponder the bargain. Carla throws herself impulsively into his arms exclaiming: "With you. With you! Take me, take me! I am yours, yours, yours!" The Count is now bent on the boldest plunge of all; he rides for the inn at Ahlbeck, where they can spend the night. As they reach the village, all is confusion in the streets. The people are rushing from the houses, crying, howling, raging. The Count rides over a woman; the mob rush after him with curses, clubs, sticks, and knives, while Carla rides on over the dune. When the Count finally reaches her she has discovered his character, and is silent. They seek shelter at the house of Pölitz, who shouts to the Count--"Away with your butchery!" Carla finally falls to the ground and cries--"Wretch! Go away with your butchery!" The Count is undone, and weeps like a child.]

* * * * *

"It is half-past four o'clock," said Else; "we must go. Stay here! I am not sure that Father has arrived yet; even if he left by the noon train, he can't be in Warnow yet; but that dreadful man is certainly there, waiting for you, will perhaps go away again without waiting for your return--"

"I must speak with him," muttered Valerie.

"And you must speak with him alone, though I don't wish you to do so; and so we must go----"

"Without taking along any consolation for you, poor child!"

"I am consoled; I am quite calm.--You must know that from the way I talk and look."

Else bent down to her aunt and kissed her pale lips.