In a moment all was bustle and excitement; torches were procured and the party started upon their mission, resolved to discover some clue of the missing lady before the dawning of another day. Henry was in advance, and under his direction every part of the road which led from the residence of the brewer to the village, and the adjacent woods, were carefully examined, but all with no success. No trace could be discovered, and the superst.i.tious villagers began to regard the disappearance as a supernatural mystery.

Utterly fatigued with their bootless investigation, and saddened by the thought that some harm must have come to the innocent maiden, they reluctantly left the house of the brewer and turned their footsteps towards the village, determined to continue their search in the morning. To Henry the suspense was agonizing. He seemed almost crazed at the uncertainty which shrouded the fate of the girl he loved so dearly, and he vainly attempted to discover some solution of the awful mystery.

As the silent party were crossing the bridge, they stopped for a temporary rest before proceeding further on their way, and indulged in subdued conversation upon the mystery which thus far had defied their efforts to solve.

Suddenly they were startled by an exclamation from one of their number, who, on looking casually over the railing into the stream beneath, discovered in the bright reflection of the brilliant moon, the figure of the murdered girl lying in the shallow water. With an agonizing cry Henry sprang into the river, and in a few moments clasped the lifeless body in his strong arms and bore her to the sh.o.r.e.

It was too true--the pale, beautiful features that met their frightened gaze were none other than those of the village beauty--Emerence, and a stillness like that of death fell upon the a.s.sembly as they looked upon her.

At first it was supposed that she had been accidentally drowned, but upon the lights being brought, and that cruel blow upon the head being discovered, each one looked at the other, and the words burst almost simultaneously from the lips of all:

"_Nat Toner!_"

After the first cry which escaped him, Henry Schulte never spoke again during that painful time, but with reverent hands he smoothed the wet drapery about her shapely limbs, and closed the great staring eyes, which, when he last looked upon them, were full of love, and hope, and happiness--and then, as the men gathered up the fair form and bore it to her once happy home, he followed silently, and with faltering steps.

It had needed no words from the villagers to tell him of the author of this crime. Before they had spoken, his own mind had discovered the murderer, and he had resolved upon the course to be pursued, and when, immediately after the sad funeral rites had been performed, and the body of the fair young Emerence had been placed in the ground, Henry disappeared from the village, one and all felt that the mission he had gone upon was a righteous one, and no one disputed his right to go.

At the end of a month he returned, but with a face so changed that he was scarcely recognized. The happy light was gone forever from his eyes, and the hard stern lines about the mouth told the sad story of long suffering, and of a harsh judgment that had been fulfilled.

No one questioned him upon his journey, or its result, and he gave no explanations, but when some weeks later a party of hunters in the forests on the mountains, near Werne, discovered the lifeless body of Nat Toner, with his pistol by his side, and a bullet-hole through the low, white forehead, the villagers felt that Henry's search had not been in vain, or his revenge incomplete.

To this day no one can tell, whether, suffering the pangs of remorse, the miserable man had put an end to his own life, or whether the wound in the low, white forehead was planted there by the man whom he had so dreadfully wronged.

No inquiries were made, however, and as time pa.s.sed on, the history of Nat Toner pa.s.sed out of the conversations of the simple village-folk, and, save as it was occasionally recalled by some romantic and unfortunate event abroad, was never mentioned.

To Henry Schulte the record of that sad night was always present, and was never effaced from his memory. The change that was wrought in him was apparent to all. He no longer mingled with the villagers in their merry-makings, but isolated himself entirely from their meetings and their pleasures.

A few years afterwards his parents died, and his elder brother a.s.suming the control of the farm and estates of his father, Henry removed to the farm where we now find him, and to the lowly cottage which he had occupied to the time of which we write. He became a settled misanthropist, whose only aim in life seemed to be the acquirement of wealth, and whose once genial and generous nature had now become warped into the selfishness and avarice of the miser.

So he had lived, a social hermit, until in 1845 he had become a prematurely old man, with whitened hair and furrowed brow, whose love for gold had become the pa.s.sion of his life, and whose only companions were a hired man and the old violin with which, in his younger days, he was wont to make merry music at the festivals in the village, but which now was tuned to mournful harmonies "cadenced by his grief."

CHAPTER XIII.

_Henry Schulte becomes the Owner of "Alten Hagen."_-_Surprising Increase in Wealth._--_An Imagined Attack upon His Life._--_The Miser Determines to Sail for America._

It was at this time that the projected railroad between Dortmund and Dusseldorf began to a.s.sume definite proportions, and as the line of the contemplated road lay through the village of Hagen, much excitement was engendered in consequence.

The people of Dortmund were building extravagant castles in the air, and wild and vague were the dreams which filled their sanguine minds as they contemplated the advantages that were to accrue to them upon the completion of this enterprise.

The contagion spread rapidly to Hagen, and the simple-minded villagers, who saw in this movement the rapid growth of their little town; the possible increase in the value of their property and the consequent augmenting of their now limited fortunes, hailed with delight the information that energetic operations would soon be begun, with the view of successfully accomplishing the desired object.

Not so, however, thought the Baron von Lindenthal, whose vast estate lay in close proximity to the village, immediately adjoining the farm owned and occupied by Henry Schulte, and through whose domain the road must necessarily pa.s.s.

To him the idea of encroaching upon the ancestral acres of a von Lindenthal, was an act of sacrilege not to be complacently submitted to. The quiet and peaceful seclusion in which he and those who had preceded him had lived, and the repose of his declining years was to be disturbed by the whistling of the locomotive and the rattle of the train. The din, and bustle and activity of trade was to be brought to his very threshold, and the ease and comfort of his aristocratic retirement would soon become a thing of the past. This must not and could not be permitted, and the blood of the patrician boiled within his n.o.ble veins as he contemplated the outrage that thus threatened him, and which was to result in laying profane hands upon his possessions. Improvements were all very well in their way, but then they must not be of such a character as to interfere with the pleasure or the luxurious ease of the Baron von Lindenthal. His comfort and happiness were things to be considered far above the material growth of a commercial town, and were not to be subordinated to the welfare of its ambitious inhabitants.

But then, as now, the march of public improvement was not to be r.e.t.a.r.ded, and so, finding it impossible to successfully oppose or to prevent the building of the objectionable railroad, the incensed Baron very reluctantly determined to dispose of his baronial estates and to remove to a more congenial locality, where the encroachments of trade were not to be feared, and where, in undisturbed seclusion and retirement, he might pa.s.s the remainder of his days.

With the irascible and impetuous Baron, the formation of an opinion led to immediate action, and no sooner had he resolved to the satisfaction of his own mind to dispose of his broad acres, than he began to look about him for a purchaser.

When Henry Schulte heard of this intention of the Baron, he determined, if possible, to become the owner of this extensive demesne. His mind was sufficiently alive to the importance of this railroad movement to convince him that the real estate in proximity to the line of the road must necessarily increase in value, and he also realized the necessity of seeing the Baron without delay, in order to precede any of the railroad contractors, who would no doubt present themselves ere long.

He consequently waited upon the irate Baron on the morning following, and upon being ushered into the presence of the last of the von Lindenthals, at once broached the subject of his desire to purchase the land.

The gouty old land-owner looked with astonishment as his shabbily-dressed visitor proffered his request. He had never imagined that his un.o.btrusive neighbor was possessed of any money besides his farm, and the proposition to become the purchaser of "Alten-Hagen"

was a complete surprise to him.

The Baron did not know of the hours of patient toil, nor of the habits of miserly economy which had enabled Henry Schulte to acc.u.mulate so large a sum of money as to warrant him in entertaining the desire to increase his estate; nor did he know that his economical neighbor could see further into the future, and better appreciate the advantages which would accrue to him from the possession of this additional property, than could their present aristocratic owner.

However, the Baron lost no time in idle speculations as to the means by which his visitor had grown wealthy. His land was for sale, a purchaser stood before him, and in a short time the wealthy miser became the owner of the Baron's land for a price entirely inadequate to the value which he received. When, a few weeks later, the question of appropriating the land and allowing the damage therefor came to be considered, the railroad company were required to treat with the miser of Hagen instead of the Baron von Lindenthal.

The wisdom and foresight displayed by Henry Schulte in becoming the purchaser of this estate was very soon clearly demonstrated, for in a very short time afterwards he received from the railroad company, as damages and for the right of way through his grounds, more than the sum he had originally paid to the impulsive Baron for the fee of the entire estate.

A few years after this several coal mines were opened in the vicinity, iron works were erected, and as Hagen became a thriving, flourishing city it naturally extended its industries. Henry Schulte's newly acquired property then became available for the erection of iron works and coal breakers, and his wealth was considerably increased by these means. A division of a part of his land into building lots, on the main road from Herdecke to Hagen, also swelled the volume of his increasing revenue. It seemed that he had suddenly fallen upon the wave of advancing fortune, for soon after this some parts of the soil being found to be of excellent quality for brick-making, he entered into arrangements with some extensive manufacturers and received a large sum for the use and occupation of his grounds for that purpose.

Thus, in a very few years, the patient, plodding, avaricious farmer found himself one of the wealthiest men in the locality. This fact, however, produced no change in his habits or his dress, nor did his mode of living undergo any improvement consequent upon the changed condition of his circ.u.mstances. This vast acc.u.mulation of money only seemed to intensify his avarice, to increase his meanness, and the desire for gain became the ruling pa.s.sion of his heart and mind. He removed to the large and imposing mansion lately occupied by the Baron, but this was done simply because he could find no other occupant for it; while he could readily procure a tenant for the little cottage where he had previously resided.

The effect of his presence there was soon made manifest, and only a short time elapsed before this beautiful residence presented an appearance of negligence sadly at variance with the thrifty neatness that was everywhere apparent during the time of its occupancy by the Baron and his family. The general air of neglect and squalor surrounding it proclaimed that the habits of the miser had been too firmly grounded to be easily disturbed, and that the man remained the same, whether in the castle or the hovel.

Indeed, it seemed that his reserve and isolation became more marked, and he dressed so shabbily that he scarcely ever appeared in other than soiled and ragged garments. His heart became harder and more grasping, and the few people who had known him in his younger days, and were disposed to be friendly, soon dropped away from him, finding it impossible to endure his harshness of manner and his penurious ways.

His household now consisted of a housekeeper and a valet, the former an elderly woman, who had long been an object of charity to the people of Hagen, and whose services were procured by him at a mere nominal price, and the latter was a young, simple-minded fellow, who performed the multifarious duties of a man-of-all-work, for a stipulated sum that barely sufficed for his needs, exclusive of the daily fare which he received from the hands of his economical employer.

His administration of domestic affairs was in entire accord with his narrow-minded and contracted heart, and the servants found but little comfort while in his employ. He took sole charge of his domestic arrangements himself, and to the patient and uncomplaining Mrs.

Sch.e.l.ler would daily furnish the meager complement of beans and potatoes which were required for the day's consumption. The balance of the store would then be religiously kept under lock and key to prevent any tendency towards extravagance on the part of those who served him.

In addition to the various other investments possessed by him, he cultivated a large portion of the land acquired from the Baron, and, being a practical farmer, thoroughly understanding the advantage of drainage, he succeeded in redeeming a great amount of land heretofore deemed worthless, and brought it to a high state of cultivation.

His farming land consisted of several hundred acres, which required the employment of many men, and the large forests, with their apparently inexhaustible timber, furnished occupation for a number of woodmen, all of whom were under the supervision of the master. Here, too, his parsimony extended, and, while no efforts were spared to improve the quality of the land, and to increase the crops that were gathered, in every other respect his miserly nature exerted itself.

The horses and cattle were lean and poorly fed, the buildings were out of repair, and a general system of rigorous and pinching economy was observed, all of which tended to the dissatisfaction of those employed by him, but which in no wise affected the firmly-grounded avarice of their employer, who every day appeared to grow more harsh and unfeeling.

He became grinding and pitiless in his dealings with those who were indebted to him, exacting full and prompt payment of all moneys due to him, without regard to the straitened circ.u.mstances of his debtors, or the dest.i.tution which frequently followed his summary means of enforcing his collections.

The various cares and anxieties attendant upon the management of his affairs were often vexatious and annoying, and as time wore on he became exceedingly captious and irritable. His ebullitions of temper, which now became quite frequent, were vented upon the innocent heads of those who labored in his service, and much dissatisfaction was engendered in consequence. He became suspicious of all who surrounded him, and imagined that every one with whom he was connected were seeking to rob him, and finally an idea took possession of his mind, which completely destroyed his peace and made his existence perfectly miserable. He imagined that his life was in danger, and that there was a conspiracy formed to murder him for his money.

So firmly did this conviction cling to him that he became intensely nervous and restless, and was scarcely able to sleep in his bed at nights. He would bolt and bar himself in his chamber so securely that it was a matter of perfect impossibility to effect an entrance, and then, still doubtful, he would be wakeful and uneasy during the long, weary hours of the night, until from sheer exhaustion he would fall into a troubled sleep, which lasted late into the morning.

Nothing occurred of a character to justify his suspicions or to increase his fears, until one morning he was awakened at a very early hour by the breaking with a loud crash of one of the windows that opened into his room. Instantly he was awake, and, springing from his bed, he rushed frantically to the window, discharged his pistol several times in succession, at the same time calling loudly for help.

His cries alarmed his valet, who slept in a room communicating with that of his master, and who hastened at once to his a.s.sistance. It was too dark to discover anything of the cause of the breaking of the gla.s.s, and as no further demonstration occurred, he succeeded in quieting the fears of his master, and restoring him to tranquillity.

As soon as it was daylight, he made an investigation into the cause of this seeming attack, and an examination of the outside of the premises disclosed the fact that the alarm had been occasioned by the falling of the branch of an old tree that stood near to the house, and on which some of the limbs were withered and dead.

This discovery, however, by no means allayed his fears or dissipated his suspicions, but, on the contrary, he became so fixed in the insane idea that he would be a.s.sa.s.sinated, that his life in the old home became a burden to him, and he longed for a change of scene that would ensure ease for his mind, and safety for his body.