The words sounded courteous, but the glances which the men exchanged were like rapiers. Each felt at this moment that something more than dislike--that positive hatred divided them.

Hitherto Erna had taken no part in the conversation; she probably perceived with whom the victory lay, for her voice betrayed annoyance as she interposed at last: "You had better give up contending with Herr Elmhorst. He is of iron, like his work, and there is no place in his world for romance. You and I belong to quite another one, and the abyss between his and ours no bridge can span."

"You and I,--yes!" Ernst repeated quickly, turning to her. All strife was forgotten and all hatred dissolved in the joy that sparkled in his eyes as he said, almost triumphantly, 'you and I!'

Wolfgang retired so suddenly that Benno looked amazed. The doctor was talking with Veit Gronau, who had approached when he heard from Sepp the name Reinsfeld, and had introduced himself.

"You cannot possibly remember me," he was saying, "You were a very little fellow when I went abroad, so you must believe upon the evidence of my face that I was a friend of your father's when he was young. He died long ago, I know, but his son will not refuse me the hand which my old Benno cannot give me."

"Most certainly not," Benno a.s.sured him, pressing the offered hand cordially. "And now let me hear how it happens that you have returned to Europe."

CHAPTER XII.

THE BALE-FIRE.

The last crimson reflection of sunset had long vanished, field and forest were covered with dew, and the darkness was softly creeping up from the valleys to the heights, while above the snow-peaks began to gleam with a silvery l.u.s.tre,--the herald of the rising moon, which was not yet visible.

Then flames began to dart forth from the heaped-up wood on the Wolkenstein; at first only fitfully, crackling and smoking, until the fire caught the giant logs, and then it leapt aloft wildly with a magnificent ruddy glare, hailed by cheers from the circle of men around it,--the ancient bale-fire of the mountains.

It was wonderfully picturesque,--the scene to which the growing darkness added much in effect,--the flaming altar sending its sparks towards heaven, and around it in the red light the crowd of brown-visaged mountaineers in joyous motion. They chased and chaffed one another, and leaped around the fire, s.n.a.t.c.hing and waving aloft the burning brands in unrestrained delight, to which the crackling and roaring of the flames added intensity, while above it all the smoke rolled and floated in thick clouds, now half veiling and anon revealing the scene below.

Erna and Waltenberg had not left their place,--probably preferring to keep somewhat aloof from the noisy crowd. At a little distance stood Wolfgang with folded arms, apparently lost in contemplation of the fantastic spectacle. Probably by chance, he had taken up a position where he was almost entirely in the shadow; all the more brilliant did the light seem which was thrown upon the little group on the hillock, the slender, graceful figure of the girl, the tall, dark form beside her, and the s.h.a.ggy dog lying motionless at their feet, his head resting upon his huge paws.

Benno, standing near the fire with Gronau, now and then glanced towards them, but that other pair of eyes watched them intently from the gloom, and if sometimes their owner resolutely looked away towards the busy, happy throng, some mysterious force seemed to compel his gaze to rest again upon the pair, who looked as if they already belonged to each other.

Erna, who had grown warm from climbing, had taken off her hat and laid it upon the mossy stone that served her for a seat, while Waltenberg leaned above her, conversing in a low tone. What he said had, perhaps, no special significance, but his look sought hers with a pa.s.sionate eagerness which he took no pains to conceal. His eyes could well express the emotion which thrilled his whole being. The man whose thirst for freedom had so long defied the fetters of love was now hopelessly enthralled.

The conversation was carried on in an undertone, but Wolfgang distinguished every word; through all the shouting and laughter, through all the crackling and hissing of the flames, every syllable distinctly fell on his ear, for every nerve was strung in the effort to listen, as if for him life and death depended upon what was said.

"Inaccessible do you call the Wolkenstein?" asked Waltenberg. "That only means that no one has yet ascended it. It can be subdued, that haughty peak."

"Hitherto no one has subdued it, however," Erna replied. "Several have ventured up through the rocks to the foot of the topmost cliff, but there every one has been stayed; even my father, who was not easily daunted by any ascent and pursued the chamois to the highest summits, often declared, 'The Wolkenstein peak is inaccessible.'"

Ernst looked up at the peak, now only partially visible, and smiled: "Do you know, Fraulein Thurgau, your description tempts me to venture the ascent?"

She looked up at him in dismay: "Herr Waltenberg, you would not----?"

"Climb the Wolkenstein peak? At least I shall attempt it."

"Impossible! You are jesting."

"Do you think so? I hope to prove to you that I am in earnest."

"But why? What for?"

"Why does one undertake any adventure? Because the danger excites; because it is a victory, a triumph, to achieve the apparently impossible."

"And if this triumph should cost you your life? You would not be the first victim of the peak. Ask Sepp; he can tell you a sad story."

"Bah! I am no novice in such attempts. I have climbed higher mountains than your dreaded Wolkenstein."

His tone betrayed the defiant persistence of a man accustomed to danger, apt indeed to seek it. Nordheim was right: he longed only for what was withheld from him, and life had thus far withheld from him little enough. To climb a mountain-summit which no human foot had ever before trod, or to win a beautiful, proud woman who met his advances with coy reserve,--either attempt attracted him. He must win, subdue,--nothing was impossible.

The wind, which was rising, blew the flames to one side; they flickered and leaped, and a shower of sparks fell upon Wolfgang, who hardly noticed it. He remained motionless in the ruddy glare, which did not reveal his extreme pallor. The entire pile was now one mountain of flame, whence huge tongues soared aloft, higher and higher, invading the night with a fiery breath. The cool, dewy meadow, the dark forests, the steep declivities of the Wolkenstein,--all looked strangely transformed in the red, darting light beneath the clouds of smoke rolling overhead.

And there was a reflection of the glowing fire in the face of the man who endured mutely, with compressed lips, the torture that he would not flee. He felt the hot breath of the flames, but he could not tear himself from the spot where those low, half-whispered words reached his ear.

"Take care. It is the legendary stronghold of our mountains; there is a spell upon it. Its ruler permits no human foot to press her throne."

"Until he comes who subdues her. The German legends all end thus. He whose courage wins the summit clasps the enchantress in his arms."

"And dies beneath the Mountain-Sprite's icy kiss. Yes, so runs the legend."

Waltenberg laughed contemptuously: "Yes, the tale may terrify children and simple peasants. Thence comes the inaccessibility of the Wolkenstein,--not from the danger, but from superst.i.tion! Nevertheless I hope to make it mine, that mysterious kiss."

"You will not persist?" Erna interposed, between entreaty and command.

"Give up so foolhardy an idea!"

"No, no, Fraulein von Thurgau, not even at your command."

"But if I entreat?"

There was an instant's pause; in the brilliant light Wolfgang could distinguish every feature in the girl's face turned upward in genuine entreaty, and in that of the man who bent over her so close that he wellnigh touched her curls. The daring, reckless tone had vanished from his voice; it sounded low, but infinitely tender, as he rejoined, "_You_ entreat me?"

"Yes--from my heart! Do not persist in such folly. It troubles me."

Ernst smiled, and replied, in a voice strangely gentle for one so impatient of control,--

"You shall be obeyed. Sweet as it would be to know, were I in any danger, that one human being was anxious on my account, I relinquish my project."

The sharp needles of the pine bough about which Wolfgang had clasped his hand in a nervous grasp pierced his flesh, but he did not feel them. The hill of fire, which was still glowing erect, tottered, some of the logs gave way, and the burning pile fell into ruins, crashing and crackling, while from the dazzling heap a thousand tongues of flame curled along the ground, illuminating now only a comparatively narrow circle, while the meadow and the hillock vanished in darkness.

"It was a magnificent sight, was it not?" Benno asked gaily, approaching his friend and laying his hand upon the one clasping the pine. "But, Wolf, what is the matter with you? You have an attack of fever,--you are trembling, and your hand is icy cold."

"There is nothing the matter," said Wolfgang. "I may have taken a little cold here in the damp."

"Taken cold on this summer evening? a fellow of your iron const.i.tution?

You are ill."

But Elmhorst withdrew the hand the doctor would have taken: "Pray do not make so much of a slight indisposition; such attacks go as quickly as they come. I felt it as we were walking up here."

Benno shook his head; he had not before perceived any symptoms of indisposition. "We had better set out upon our way back," he said. "The fire is going out, and we have a good mile to walk down the mountain."

"You are right; we are going too," said Waltenberg, approaching. "Sepp proposes to take us down by the Vulture Cliff, but that shorter way seems slightly perilous."