"It would not have been better," said the girl decidedly. "I am not made of stuff to endure all that Karl puts up with so patiently from day to day, and things would have been between you and me much as they are now between me and him, only I should have been the one who had all to bear. I never had the least bit of your heart, your love was given elsewhere, in quite a different place."

There was bitter reproach in her words, but even this allusion could not rouse Ulric to-day. He was standing up now and gazing over towards the park as it lay shadowy in the distance, searching, as it were, for something between the trees.

"You mean I might have done better nearer at home, if I had sought for it, and you are right; but this is not a thing to be sought after, Martha. It seizes you all at once, and never looses you again while there is breath in your body. I have learnt to know it I have given you pain, my girl; now for the first time I know how much. But, believe me, no blessing comes with such love; it gives one more to suffer than the bitterest hate."

Words like these, nearly approaching to a prayer for forgiveness, sounded strangely from Ulric Hartmann's lips; he was little used to ask whether he gave pain or not. There was about him a sort of dull resignation quite foreign to his nature, and the grief which moved him now was all the more profound that it showed itself by no pa.s.sionate outburst. Martha forgot her repugnance and her fear, and went close up to his side.

"What ails you, Ulric? You are so strange to-day. I have never seen you like this. What is the matter?"

He pushed the curly hair from his brow, and leaned up against the wooden gate.

"I don't know. Something has been weighing on me all day long. I can't shake it off, and it takes my strength from me. I want it for to-morrow, but directly I try to think, all grows black and dark before me, as if there lay nothing more beyond, as if to-morrow all would be at an end--all!"

Ulric started up suddenly with a dash of his old spirit.

"Absurd nonsense! I think the water down there has bewitched me with its confounded brawl. I have so much time just now to be listening to it, really! Good-bye."

He turned to go, but the girl held him back anxiously.

"Where are you going? To see the men?"

"No, I am going first on an errand of my own. Good-bye."

"Ulric, I implore you, stay!"

But the young miner's short-lived softened mood was over already. He tore himself free impatiently.

"Let me go. I have no time for talk--another time!"

He pushed open the garden gate, and, setting off in the direction of the park, soon disappeared in the growing darkness.

Martha stood with folded hands, looking after him. Wounded feeling and bitter pain strove together in her countenance, but the pain gained the upper hand.

"No blessing comes with such a love."

The words found an echo in her heart. She felt that there was no blessing on hers either.

Meanwhile Eugenie Berkow sat alone in her husband's study. There had been little opportunity as yet for these two to enjoy their newly-won felicity. Twice had Arthur been compelled to leave her; in the morning when he had thrown himself into the thick of the tumult and quelled it for the time being, and now again when he had been called away to a conference with the officials.

But, in spite of her anxiety about him and of the dangerous situation in which they were placed, the young wife's face beamed with a reflection of that deep inward happiness which, gained at the cost of many an arduous struggle, was no longer at the mercy of outward storms.

She was with her husband, at his side, under his protection, and Arthur was, it seemed, a man able to make his wife forget all else in that one fact.

Suddenly a door was opened, and steps resounded in the adjoining room.

Eugenie rose to meet the newcomer, whom she naturally took for her husband, but her first feeling of surprise at seeing a stranger gave way to one of terror as she recognised Ulric Hartmann.

He was startled too at seeing her, and stood still in some embarra.s.sment.

"Ah, it is you, my lady! I was looking for Herr Berkow."

"He is not here, I am expecting him," she answered quickly, in a trembling voice.

She knew what a source of danger this man had been to Arthur, what a part he had played here on the works, yet she had not hesitated to trust herself to his protection, when that morning it had seemed her only chance of reaching the house. Between the morning and evening, however, had come the hour in which she had stood by and listened to the accusations brought against him by the chief-engineer.

They were based on suspicion alone, but even the suspicion of so dastardly and perfidious an act as the a.s.sa.s.sination of a defenceless man is something terrible, and she had shuddered with horror at the thought of it. She could trust herself to the openly-declared and ruthless enemy of her husband, but she shrank back from the hand which was possibly dyed with the blood of her husband's father.

Ulric noticed the movement only too plainly. He still stood on the threshold, but in his voice there was a tone of unmistakable scorn.

"I have alarmed you by coming. It was not my fault that I had not myself announced. You are ill served, my lady. Neither on the stairs nor in the corridors did I meet with one of your lacqueys. I should very likely have thrust them out of my way, if they had refused me admittance, but the noise of it would have been a sort of announcement in itself."

Eugenie knew that he could have come in without hindrance. The two servants were, by Arthur's express command, stationed in the ante-room leading to her own apartments. In the excited state of men's minds, now that every restraint was loosed and all order overthrown, it might be that some would so far profit by the general license, as to attack, or at least to force their way into, the house.

Anxiety and an uneasy restlessness had driven Eugenie over to her husband's rooms. They were situated in another wing, and from their windows she would see him come, but the entrance to them was unguarded and she was there quite alone.

"What do you want, Hartmann?" she asked, summoning up her courage.

"After all that has happened, I did not think you would attempt to enter our house again and to gain access to Herr Berkow's private rooms. You know that he cannot receive you now."

"It was just on that account I was looking for him. I have a few words to say to him. I thought I should find him alone. It was not you I was seeking, my lady."

He stepped a little nearer to her as he said these words. Eugenie retreated involuntarily; he laughed out with a bitter laugh.

"What a change a few hours may make! This morning you were begging for my protection and leaning on my arm as I led you through all the noise out there. Now, you fly from me as if your life were not safe when I am by. Herr Berkow has used his time well, he has painted me in the colours of a robber and a murderer, has he not?"

The young wife's delicate eyebrows contracted angrily, as, mastering her agitation, she replied shortly and sternly,

"Leave me! my husband is not here, you see yourself, and if he were to come now, I should hardly leave you alone with him."

"Why not?" asked Ulric slowly, but lowering darkly at her. "Why not?"

he repeated more vehemently as she remained silent.

Eugenie's fearless nature had often led her into acts of imprudence.

She did not reflect now on the possible consequences of her words, as, returning his gaze steadfastly, she hazarded the dangerous answer,

"Because your company has been fatal to one Berkow already."

Hartmann started, and turned very pale. For one moment it seemed that he would break out with all his old violence, but no! his features still wore that rigid calm, and he spoke in the same dull under-tone he had used throughout the interview.

"So that was it? Truly, I might have known it would find its way to you at last."

Eugenie looked on in surprise. She had not expected such calmness as this, it struck her as unnatural, yet she was stimulated by it to a still greater venture. She had that morning tested her power and found it to be great.

If it were only for Arthur's sake she longed for a certainty as to this man who stood opposed to him in the fight, and she felt that though the truth should be denied to all the world beside, it would not be so to her.

"You know what I mean then?" she began again. "You understand to what I allude? Hartmann, can you solemnly declare the reports connected with that unhappy hour to be false?"

He crossed his arms on his breast, and looked moodily to the ground.

"If I were to do so would you believe me?"