"Oh, you are here already!" said the latter, greeting his youthful brother-in-law with the cool politeness usual between them.

Conrad hurried up to him.

"I wanted to say a few words to you; but, good Heavens! what is the matter with you? Are you ill?"

"I?" said Arthur quietly. "What can you be thinking of? I am perfectly well."

"Are you?" returned Conrad with a look at the pale drawn features which told of a sleepless night. "I should not have thought so!"

"I am not used to get up so early, it always makes one look only half awake. I am afraid you will have a bad journey. There is a terrible fog this morning."

He went up to the window to look out at the weather, and also to escape from his companion's unpleasant physiognomical observations. Conrad was not to be put off so. He stepped up to his brother-in-law's side.

"I wanted to be down first," began he, hesitating a little, "because I should like to say a few words to you while we are by ourselves, Arthur."

Berkow turned round, surprised as much by the mode of address as by the wish expressed. Conrad had never before called him by his Christian name. He had hitherto followed his father's example and employed the formal "Herr Berkow."

"Well?" said Arthur, surprised indeed, but friendly.

The young officer was evidently divided between doubt and confusion on the one hand, and some unexpressed feeling on the other.

After the pause of a minute or so, he raised his frank handsome face and looked at his brother-in-law earnestly.

"We have been unjust to you, Arthur, and I perhaps more than the rest.

I was indignant at the marriage and at the compulsion we had been subjected to, and I honestly confess I have hated you with all my heart ever since the day you married my sister. I found out yesterday that we had been mistaken in our opinion of you, and so it is all up with my hatred. I am sorry, very sorry, and--and that is what I wanted to say.

Will you shake hands, Arthur?"

He held out his hand heartily. Arthur grasped it.

"I thank you, Con," he said, simply.

"Well, thank G.o.d, that is over. I could not sleep for it all night!"

exclaimed the young fellow, greatly relieved. "And, believe me, my father does you justice too. He won't own it to you, I daresay, but I know it is in his mind."

A fleeting smile crossed Arthur's face, but it did not clear his brow or bring a sparkle to his eyes. A heavy shadow lay on both as he answered quietly,

"I am glad of it. So we shall not part as enemies."

"Oh, about the journey," broke in Conrad, hastily. "My father is still up in his room, and Eugenie is all by herself in hers. Will you not go in and speak to her?"

"What for?" asked Arthur in surprise. "The Baron may come in at any moment, and Eugenie will hardly"----

"I will stand before the door and not let any one in. I will manage to keep my father here until you are ready."

Arthur's face flushed under the other's earnest gaze, but he shook his head gravely.

"No, Con, that is not necessary. I spoke to your sister yesterday evening, and we said all there was to say."

"About her leaving?"

"About her leaving."

The young officer looked disappointed, but he had no time to press his offer, for the Baron's step was just then heard outside, and immediately afterwards he came in.

Conrad retreated into the back ground with an air of vexation, murmuring to himself as he did so:

"But the thing is not on the square, for all that."

The inevitable meeting at breakfast was over, helped through by the Baron's formal politeness, and by the constant presence of the servants; and now the carriage drove up to the terrace below. The gentlemen took their overcoats, and the maid brought Eugenie's hat and shawl. Arthur offered his arm to his wife to lead her down, for the appearance of a perfectly good understanding between them must be kept up to the last.

Grey and gloomy the morning had dawned over the hills; grey and gloomy it descended now into the valleys below. Before the windows a sea of mist ebbed and flowed, and here within doors the cold frosty morning light streaming already into the great rooms gave to them a weird and desolate look. The splendour of their decorations seemed suddenly to have lost all l.u.s.tre and colour, now that they were about to be left empty once more--very empty would they be, for their young mistress was leaving them without thought of return.

Conrad noticed that his sister had precisely the same look on her face as that which just before had startled him on Arthur's; but, beyond this, he could discover nothing unusual in their appearance or behaviour. They were both fully capable of playing the parts they had undertaken, although their features betrayed that the effort to do so had cost them a sleepless night. Perhaps this icy composure of theirs was not all a.s.sumed.

When a storm has spent itself, there follows that dead calm which so often helps us with relative ease over the most dreaded pa.s.sages in life. It casts a veil over the soul, and this veil obscures from it all clear consciousness of the decisive moment. The struggle and combating subside into a dull prevailing sense of pain, through which, now and again, darts a fierce sudden pang, making the sufferer reflect as to the reason of his anguish.

Eugenie, leaning on her husband's arm, went down the stairs without really knowing why or whither they were going. As in a dream she saw the carpeted steps over which her dress rustled, the tall oleander trees standing in the hall, the faces of the servants bowing as she went by. It all pa.s.sed before her in an indistinct shadowy way.

Then all at once something sharp and almost painful smote her forehead; it was the cold morning air, and she shuddered as she went out into it.

Before her stood the carriage ready to bear her away; she saw this and nothing else, for terraces, flower-beds and fountains, all had vanished, and the pale morning twilight gleamed only on a thick curtain of vapour. Once again the eyes of husband and wife met, but they spoke no word to each other. The cloud lay heavy and thick between them too.

Then Eugenie felt that a hand, cold as ice, was laid in hers, heard some distant polite farewell speech, the words of which she did not comprehend; but it was Arthur's voice which spoke, and, at that sound, the sharp stinging pain darted once more through her dull dream. After that came the stamping of horses' hoofs and the roll of wheels, and away they went out into the faintly illumined mists which surged and swelled around them, as on that spring day when, up on the forest heights, the separation had been decided on, in the hour of which the old legends say: "What parts then, parts for all eternity."

CHAPTER XX.

"We shall have it in earnest now, I tell you," said the chief-engineer to the Director, as they were walking together towards their respective homes. "Their august leader seems to be only waiting for us to furnish him with a pretext, in order to give the signal for attack. They regularly challenge us now, and insults are the order of the day. The whole district has been raised by them; the same thing is rife now on all the works around, only we had the honour of being first in the field. That brings grist to Hartmann's mill. He carries his head as high as ever again."

"Herr Berkow seems to be prepared for anything," said the Director. "He has placed his wife in safety as speedily as possible. That shows better than all else what he fears from his own people."

"Bah! our people!" broke in his colleague. "We should soon come to terms with them, if it were not for that one man. So long as he is in command, there is no peace or rest to be thought of. If Hartmann were away from the works but one week, I would answer for a settlement of the whole business."

"I have thought already"--the Director looked round cautiously, and lowered his voice--"I have thought already whether we could make use of the suspicion which is in every one's mind, and which, we may be sure, does the fellow no injustice. What do you say?"

"It will not do. We have suspicions enough, but where are the proofs?

Nothing was found amiss with the pulleys or with the ropes. They broke, and that was all that could be discovered, though the matter was thoroughly sifted when the judicial inquiry was made. How it came about, and what happened down below, can only be known to Hartmann, and he is a match for any man. No one would make him commit himself. It would result in nothing; they would have to set him free again."

"But a criminal charge would deprive him of all power to harm for the time being. If an accusation were lodged against him, he would be imprisoned for a few weeks, and then"----

The chief-engineer frowned ominously.

"And the fury of our people, when they see hands laid upon their leader, will you take that upon yourself? I will not. They would storm the house down over our heads, if the man[oe]uvre were seen through, as it a.s.suredly would be."

"That might be a question. There is no longer the old love between him and them."