"I cannot even see in what her folly has consisted," observed the Lieutenant. "What has she done to deserve such a reproach? She obeyed her father, consented to make a brilliant match, and did it gladly. She could not possibly foresee what would be the consequences of an engagement which seemed so advantageous both for herself and for her father."

"That is just it. She thought of nothing save what she thought advantageous," Lieschen eagerly interposed. "I cannot even pity her.

She knew from Uncle Sastrow all about that odious Egon von Ernau,--that he was a man without heart or principle,--and yet she was quite ready to marry him because he was rich. It makes me indignant!"

"Ought she then to have refused to obey her father?" asked the Lieutenant.

"Yes, she ought! No father has a right to ask his child to disgrace herself by such a marriage. I am indignant with Bertha Ma.s.senburg. I never could have believed it of her. She was so charming, so good-natured, so kind, I liked her so much when she spent nearly the whole summer with us here at Osternau, about five years ago. I cannot bear to think that she could allow herself to be so dazzled by mere wealth. She deserves her punishment."

"My child, your judgment of her is very severe," her father said, gravely. "Since her mother's death, Bertha's lot has been a sad one.

She was homeless, for her father, who spent his time in all kinds of dissipation, was deep in debt, his estates were mortgaged, and he took no interest in his child. She was obliged thankfully to accept shelter with her aunt Ma.s.senburg, at Konigsberg. There her life must have been absolutely wretched. I know what a hard and loveless woman Gunda Ma.s.senburg is. We must not condemn Bertha for gladly consenting at last to anything that her father proposed that could deliver her from such a home. We should rather pity her. It is your duty, Lieschen, to receive her here with all the affection which you gave her in happier times."

"You have decided to invite her here, then?" Frau von Osternau asked, anxiously.

"Yes, Emma. The poor girl ought to find a refuge with us from the gossip and slander which have attacked her good name."

"But, Fritz----"

"Indeed it is our duty, disagreeable as it may seem, so let us say no more about it except in the way of arranging how your uncle's wishes may be most speedily fulfilled. I will write to-night both to him and to Bertha. Herr Pigglewitch is going to Breslau with Herr Storting to-morrow morning early. If he will kindly post my letters there we can have a reply by day after to-morrow night, and shall know when to expect Bertha. You will take charge of the letters, will you not, Herr Candidate?"

At this direct question Egon started as if from a dream. He had listened with intense attention to the letter, but had really heard nothing of what had since been said. It was his fault, all this wretched scandal which so painfully involved all these people, and from the annoyance of which Herr von Osternau and his family were not exempt.

When he left his father's house, as he thought forever, and succeeded in leaving Berlin without being seen or recognized by any one, he had taken genuine satisfaction in his success in vanishing without leaving a trace behind. He had derived a unique enjoyment from imagining the impression which his disappearance would produce among his acquaintances; he had never once fancied that his voluntary departure from the world could cause any real regret to a living being. He knew that his father was incapable of feeling genuine grief; there was no one to be pained by his sudden death. Egon had loved and been loved by no one. And his imagination had not played him false. Herr von Sastrow's letter described the theatric woo of the Councillor: if he had actually felt a degree of sorrow for his son's death he was more than indemnified by the opportunity for playing the part of a bereaved parent. His vanity was flattered by the sensation caused by Egon's disappearance.

The young man could see it all in his mind's eye,--his father's well-acted agony for the death of a son upon whom he had bestowed no affection, and the equally well acted sympathy of his acquaintances.

All were aware of the farce at which they were a.s.sisting, but it was played because required by the customs of society, and because the actors were well pleased with their parts.

Yes, everything had happened as Egon had thought it would. What he had not thought of was that his death could cast a shade upon another human existence,--upon the reputation of his proposed bride.

He had been most disagreeably affected during the reading of the letter by the enumeration of his various characteristics, for he could not but admit the degree of truth in the written picture. A fleeting blush had pa.s.sed over his cheek when he heard the terms in which Bertha von Ma.s.senburg had summed up his character, 'An unfortunate man who, bred in the lap of luxury, had lost all force of character, all capacity to shape his destiny.' She had bestowed upon him her contemptuous pity!

Lieschen had spoken of cowardice when, during their ride, she had expressed her detestation of suicide. And Bertha von Ma.s.senburg had pitied him as a coward!

He was so absorbed in these thoughts that he heard nothing of what was going on about him, and when startled by Herr von Osternau's appeal to him he was obliged to confess that he had not heard his question.

"Extraordinary absence of mind," the Lieutenant observed, but Herr von Osternau said, in his gentle, kindly way, "Herr Pigglewitch has had a most fatiguing day, and it is very natural that he should feel but a slight degree of interest in the family affairs of strangers."

Then, after repeating his request with regard to the letters, and receiving on the instant an a.s.surance from Egon that he would gladly undertake the charge of them, Herr von Osternau added,--

"As you must be tired, Herr Pigglewitch, and need rest, I will not detain you from seeking it. I would ask but one favour of you. We have all been moved by Sastrow's letter, which will give me at least a troubled night. Perhaps you may succeed in diverting our thoughts if you will kindly go once more to the piano and give us some of your delicious music."

An eloquent look from Lieschen seconded her father's request, and Egon willingly complied. He himself had often resorted to music for consolation, but of late this source of comfort had failed him; he had played with enjoyment to-day for the first time for months, and now so soon as his fingers touched the keys the old spell threw its charm over him. He forgot that Herr von Osternau had asked him to play, he forgot that he was among strangers, of whom one, the Lieutenant, was eying him with dislike and suspicion; he played for himself alone. Involuntarily he glided after a brief prelude into one of Schumann's wonderful reveries. He had played the studies of the immortal master so often, he had made them so thoroughly his own, that the notes came now as if from his very soul, and thus affected his hearers, who listened breathless, fairly carried away by the magic of sound.

It was over--with the last tone the spell too was broken. He knew that he was among the Von Osternaus; there upon the lounge sat the Lieutenant sullenly staring at the floor, and beside him was Frau von Osternau, her hands clasped in her lap, lost in dreamy enjoyment. And Lieschen?--there were tears in the girl's eyes! Egon saw no more, he felt his pulses quicken, any word of praise or thanks would have been intolerable to him. Rising from the piano, he would have left the room in silence, but that he suddenly remembered what was due from Gottlieb Pigglewitch to his employer. Little as he had learned of self-control, it must be exercised now. So with a courteous bow he turned to the master of the house and begged to be excused from playing anything more, he was really much fatigued and would ask permission to retire to his room. He then kissed Frau von Osternau's offered hand, bowed low to Lieschen, even bestowed a formal inclination upon the Lieutenant, and retired.

When the door closed behind him he pa.s.sed his hand over his eyes as if to push away some cloud from his mind. Was he the same Egon von Ernau who had never paid the slightest regard to what others might think of him,--to anything indeed save his own whim of the moment? A strange and sudden change had come over him,--he could not comprehend it.

CHAPTER IX.

A LETTER AND ITS REPLY.

The heavy clouds which had veiled the horizon in the afternoon had slowly covered all the skies, the night was very dark, the gloom only broken from time to time by dazzling flashes of lightning.

Egon stood at his open window. He felt easier and freer now that he was once more alone, and the spectacle of the beginning of the storm was a relief to him. The old trees waved and creaked in the blast, the rustling of the leaves, the crashing of boughs, and the moaning of the wind were as music in his ears. If only some ray of light could illumine the darkness within him, as the lightning's play lit up the world without!

He had suddenly become aware of the serious importance of existence.

Hitherto he had never reflected upon the future, and but seldom upon the past. He had lived in the present, obeying the impulse of the moment, with no thought of the consequences of his actions. He had known no feeling of responsibility, he had lived for himself alone; who in all the world had any claim upon his consideration?

When the insane idea occurred to him of playing the part of Gottlieb Pigglewitch for a little while, it had indeed entered his mind that it might result in some annoyance, but he had thoughtlessly followed the impulse of the moment; he could put a stop to it all whenever he pleased, he still possessed his revolver. He had not been bored, it is true, for a moment since he had changed clothes with Gottlieb Pigglewitch and borrowed his name, but what had he gained? Was he happy? Was life any more attractive to him? No, not in the least.

Formerly, when he had thought it worth while to recur to the past, he had done so without regret, without the slightest remorse, he had recalled his past with a kind of weary indifference; today this retrospect begot within him a sensation of shame. His whole past life seemed to him frivolous and insignificant. Bertha von Ma.s.senburg had characterized him correctly. It was only by chance that he had not fled from life like a coward. Involuntarily, as the feeling of shame grew stronger, he felt for his revolver in his breast-pocket to toss it from him, and as he drew it forth, a letter likewise was pulled from his pocket and fell upon the floor.

It was the note addressed to the Candidate Gottlieb Pigglewitch, which he had received a few hours before. Egon had forgotten it; he picked it up now and carried it to the table, where a light was burning.

His thoughts had taken another turn; the momentary disgust at the thought of his revolver vanished, he contemplated it with a half-smile, and his thoughts ran thus: "I had very nearly thrown you away forever, old friend. It was only an accident, the appearance of this wretched letter, which prevented me from yielding to the impulse of the moment.

Shall I never, then, be master of myself? 'He is a man of no force of character, he has no self-control.' Those were old Sastrow's words, and, by Jove! he is right. Always the sport of the moment! Why should I toss away my revolver? There is no danger in it for me, except by my own will, by my being too great a coward to fight the battle of life.

No, old friend, you shall stay by me, not as an aid in my extreme need, but as a warning to me to control myself."

He thrust the weapon again into his breast-pocket, and then turned to the letter in his left hand. It was addressed in a very fine, round hand to the "Candidate Gottlieb Pigglewitch, at Castle Osternau, near Mirbach;" but just after the name Pigglewitch two words, enclosed in brackets, were written, in a handwriting so excessively small as to escape notice at the first glance. Egon held the note near the lamp, and by its light deciphered the words "Fritz Fortune."

Fritz Fortune! It was the name that Egon had invented and given instead of his own to the real Pigglewitch. No one else knew this name, and hence it was clear that the note was for Egon, and from the redoubtable Candidate himself. The young fellow broke the seal, and read:

"Respected Herr Fortune,--Forgive me for once more turning to you in my extreme need; indeed I cannot help it. Wonderful indeed are the ways of the Lord! He sent me aid when with a wanton hand I attempted my own life; you, dear sir, rescued not only my body, but my immortal soul, saving it from mortal sin. And in your inexhaustible generosity you provided me with means not only to repay my uncle, but to emigrate to America and live happy there. Four thousand marks you bestowed upon me.

Permit me, however, to remark that you counted out to me one hundred marks too little. I went carefully over the notes as soon as you had left, and they amounted to only three thousand nine hundred marks. I called after you, but you did not hear me; therefore you still owe me one hundred marks.

"But not for this do I now address you. A hundred marks is, to be sure, a large sum for me, but I would not mind it, I should now be in Hamburg or Bremen, ready to start for America by the next steamer, if fate had not subjected me to fresh trials.

"The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak. I have been a.s.sailed by temptation and have been unable to resist. Wretched man that I am, I have again lost everything,--everything! There is nothing left for me, Herr Fortune, but to appeal once more to your benevolence; and my heart is filled with hope that you will not let me plead in vain.

"You can probably surmise how I have been stripped of everything that you bestowed upon me. My miserable pa.s.sion for play has again wrought my ruin. I could not withstand temptation. Upon arriving in Berlin, full of the brightest hopes, I encountered near the station the same men who had shortly before won all that I possessed. But why dwell upon these wretched details? In little more than an hour I was again a beggar, with hardly money enough for food for a couple of days. I sought out my former lodgings, where my landlady received me,--I had paid her up to the 15th,--and here, sitting despairing in my lonely room, it has occurred to me to write to you, honoured Herr Fortune.

"You are rich. You have with you now thousands of marks. You cannot refuse to help a miserable man who knows no help save in you. I entreat, I implore you to send me four thousand marks more, and I will say nothing about the hundred marks that you still owe me.

"What shall I do if you refuse to aid me? It is true that I promised you to reveal to no one the fact that you had under my name installed yourself in my situation at Castle Osternau, and that I had handed over to you all my credentials, but with the best will in the world it is impossible for me to keep my promise. I cannot now emigrate to America, I must stay here, and in order to live I must find a situation here; to do this I need my papers. Yes, I must lay claim to the situation promised me at Castle Osternau; only by procuring it can I ever lay by money enough to pay my uncle. This is my only hope, for if I do not pay it he will send me to jail, whereas if I make him remittances he will perhaps wait in order not to lose his money.

"You will see yourself, Herr Fortune, that I shall be forced to break my promise to you, much as it will pain me to cause you any annoyance.

I am so grateful to you that the thought of your being arrested and brought to punishment for a.s.suming a false name and presenting false credentials drives me to despair.

"This must not happen. You will give heed to my entreaty, and once more send me the four thousand marks which I, miserable sinner that I am, have lost at play. I swear to you, by all that is sacred, that by the next mail after the receipt of the money I will transmit my uncle's money to him, and will go straight to Hamburg without spending a day more in Berlin. I swear to you that I will not touch a card, that I will not yield to temptation.

"Help me this once, only this once, honoured Herr Fortune, I implore you on my knees, lying in the dust before you!

"Your wretched, desperate, bat eternally grateful and devoted

"Gottlieb Pigglewitch.