His mother! As he lay in her arms while she overwhelmed him with pa.s.sionate caresses--with tender, fond names such as he had never heard, all else disappeared in the flood of overwhelming delight.

Several minutes pa.s.sed thus, then Hartmut disengaged himself from the embrace which would have detained him.

"Why have you never been with me, mamma?" he asked vehemently. "Why did they tell me that you were dead?"

Zalika drew back. In a moment all the tenderness vanished from her face; a light kindled there of wild, deadly hatred, and the answer came hissing from her lips:

"Because your father hates me, my son, and because he did not wish to leave me even the love of my only child when he thrust me from him."

Hartmut was silent with consternation. He knew well that no one dared mention his mother's name in his father's presence--that his father had once silenced him with the greatest harshness when he had ventured to ask for her, but he had been too young to muse over the why.

Zalika did not give him time for it now. She stroked the dark, curly hair back from the high forehead, and a shadow rested on her face.

"You have his brow," she said slowly, "but that is the only thing to remind of him; everything else belongs to me--to me alone. Every feature tells that you are wholly mine. I knew it would be so."

Again she embraced him, overwhelming him with caresses, which Hartmut returned as pa.s.sionately. It was an intoxication of happiness to him--like one of the fairy tales of which he had so often dreamed, and he gave himself up to the charm unquestioningly and unreservedly.

But now w.i.l.l.y made himself heard on the opposite bank, calling loudly for his friend, and reminding him that it was time to return home.

Zalika started.

"We must part. n.o.body must know that I have seen you and spoken with you, particularly your father. When do you return to him?"

"In eight days."

"Not until then?" The tone was triumphant. "I shall see you every day until then. Be here at the pond to-morrow at the same hour. Dispense with your companion under some pretext, so that we may be undisturbed.

You will come, Hartmut?"

"Certainly mother, but----"

She did not give him time for an excuse, but continued in the same pa.s.sionate whisper:

"Above all, be silent to everybody; do not forget that. Farewell, my child, my beloved only son. Au revoir!"

One more fervent kiss upon Hartmut's brow, then she vanished in the bushes as mysteriously as she had appeared. It was quite time, for w.i.l.l.y appeared on the scene, his approach being heralded by his heavy stamping upon the forest ground.

"Why do you not answer?" he demanded. "I have called three times. Did you fall asleep? You look as if you had been startled from a dream."

Hartmut stood as if stunned, gazing upon the bushes in which his mother had disappeared. At his cousin's words he straightened himself and drew his hand across his brow.

"Yes, I have been dreaming," he said, slowly; "quite a wonderful, strange dream."

"You might rather have been fishing," said w.i.l.l.y; "just see what a splendid catch I got over on the other bank. A person ought not to dream in broad daylight. He ought to be properly occupied, my mother says--and my mother is always right."

CHAPTER IV.

The families of Falkenried and Wallmoden had been friendly for years.

As owners of adjoining estates they visited each other frequently; the children grew up together, and many mutual interests drew the bonds of friendship still closer.

As both families were only comfortably well off, the sons had their own way to make, which, after completing their education, Major Hartmut von Falkenried and Herbert Wallmoden had done. They had been playmates as children, and had remained true to that friendship when grown to manhood.

At one time the parents thought to cement this friendship by a marriage between the--at that time--Lieutenant Falkenried and Regine Wallmoden.

The young couple seemed in perfect accord with it, and all looked propitious for the match, when something took place which brought the plan to a sudden end.

A cousin of the Wallmoden family--an incorrigible fellow who, through divers bad capers, had made it impossible to remain at home, had, long ago, gone out into the wide world. After much travel and a rather adventurous life, he had landed in Roumania, where he acted as inspector upon the estates of a rich Bojar. The rich man died, and the inspector thought best to retrieve his lost fortunes and position in life by marriage with the widow.

It was consummated, and he returned to his old home, accompanied by his wife, for a visit to his relatives, after an absence of more than ten years.

Frau von Wallmoden's bloom of youth had long pa.s.sed, but she brought with her her daughter by her first marriage--Zalika Rojanow.

The young girl, hardly seventeen years old, with her foreign beauty and charm of her glowing temperament, burst like a meteor upon the horizon of this German country n.o.bility, whose life flowed in such calm, even channels.

And she was a strange object in this circle, whose forms and manners she disregarded with sovereign indifference, and who stared at her as at a being from another world. There was many a serious shaking of heads and much condemnation, which was not uttered aloud, because they saw in the girl only a temporary visitor, who would disappear as suddenly as she had come into view.

Just about this time Hartmut Falkenried came from his garrison to the paternal estates, and became acquainted with the new relatives of his friends. He saw Zalika and recognized in her his fate. It was one of those pa.s.sions which spring up lightning-like--which resemble the intoxication of a dream, and are paid for only too frequently with the penance of the whole life.

Forgotten were the wishes of the parents, his own plans for the future--forgotten the quiet affection which had drawn him to his playmate Regine. He no longer had eyes for the domestic flower which bloomed young and fresh for him; he breathed only the intoxicating perfume of the foreign wonder-plant. All else disappeared before her, and in a quiet hour with her he threw himself at her feet, confessing his love.

Strangely enough, his feelings were returned. Perhaps it was the truth of extremes meeting which drew Zalika to a man who was her opposite in every respect; perhaps she was flattered by the fact that a glance, a word from her could change the grave, calm and almost gloomy nature of the young officer to enthusiasm.

Enough, she accepted his proposal and he was permitted to embrace her as his betrothed.

The news of this engagement created a storm in the whole family circle; entreaties and warnings came from all sides; even Zalika's mother and stepfather opposed it, but the universal disapproval only increased the determination of the young couple, and six months later Falkenried led his young wife into his home.

But the voices who prophesied misfortune to this marriage were in the right. The bitterest disappointment followed the short term of happiness. It had been a dangerous mistake to believe that a woman like Zalika Rojanow, grown up in boundless freedom and accustomed to the uncontrolled, extravagant life of the families of the Bojars of her country, could ever submit herself to German views and conditions.

To gallop about on fiery horses; to a.s.sociate freely with men who spent their time in hunting and gambling, and who surrounded themselves in their homes with a splendor which went hand in hand with the most corrupted indebtedness of estates--such was life as she had known it so far, and the only life which suited her.

A conception of duty was as foreign to her as the knowledge of her new position in life. And this woman was to accommodate herself now to the household of a young officer of but limited means, and to the conditions of a small German garrison!

That this was impossible was proved in the first weeks. Zalika began by throwing aside every consideration, and furnishing her house in her usual style, squandering heedlessly her by no means insignificant dowry.

In vain her husband entreated, remonstrated; he found no hearing. She had only sarcasm for forms and rules which were holy to him; only a shrug of the shoulder for his strict sense of honor and ideas of decorum.

Very soon they had the most vehement controversies, and Falkenried recognized too late the serious error which he had committed. He had counted upon the all-powerful efficacy of love to battle against those warning voices which had pointed out the difference of descent, education and character, but he was forced now to recognize that Zalika had never loved him; that caprice alone, or a sudden outburst of pa.s.sion, which died as suddenly, had brought her to his arms.

She saw in him now only the uncomfortable companion who begrudged her every pleasure of life; who, with his foolish--his ridiculous ideas of honor, fettered and bound her on every side. Still, she feared this man, whose dominant will succeeded always in bowing her characterless nature under his rod.

Even the birth of little Hartmut was not sufficient to reconcile this unhappy marriage; it only held it, apparently, together. Zalika loved her child pa.s.sionately; she knew her husband would never permit her to keep it if they separated. This alone retained her at his side, while Falkenried bore his domestic misery with concealed pain, putting forth every effort to hide it at least from the world.

Nevertheless, the world knew the truth; it knew things of which the husband did not even dream and which were kept concealed from him through sheer compa.s.sion.

But finally the day came when the deceived husband was told what was no secret to others.