Part 17 (1/2)
”They are well and send their love,” said the Baron soothingly. ”Do not be alarmed, Eugenie, you have no cause to fear for any who are dear to you. The mourning which has fallen on our house does not, I regret to say, deeply affect our hearts. But you shall hear all about that later on, now you must tell me” ...
”No, no,” interrupted his daughter uneasily. ”I must know first for whom you wear this c.r.a.pe. Why are you in mourning?”
”Windeg placed his c.r.a.pe-bound hat on one side and drew his child more closely to him; there was something convulsive, something painful, in the manner of his tenderness towards her.
”I am on my way to pay the last marks of respect to our cousin Rabenau.
His property lies in this province.”
Eugenie started up. ”Count Rabenau? the owner of the entailed estates?”
”Is dead,” continued the Baron, speaking with difficulty. ”In the fulness of life and strength, a few weeks before his intended marriage.
No one could have foreseen that.”
Eugenie had grown deadly white. It was evident that the news awakened in her some terrible emotion which yet was not grief. She said no word, but her father seemed to understand her agitation.
”You know that we have been strangers to each other for a long time,”
he went on sadly. ”Rabenau's rough, fierce ways made it impossible for us to be on good terms, and I shall never forget the bitter repulse I met with from him six months ago. He could have saved us if he would, it would have been but a light thing to him. He refused harshly and peremptorily, and now he is dead, leaving no issue. I succeed to the entailed property, now that it is too late, that I have sacrificed my child!”
There was such misery in his tone that Eugenie made a great effort to control herself, and succeeded after the lapse of a minute or two.
”O papa, you must not think of me now! I--I am quite relieved to know that you will be so richly compensated for all the past humiliations. I was only a little startled, taken by surprise at the sudden news. We never could have counted on the succession.”
”Never!” said the Baron gloomily. ”Rabenau was young and strong, he was about to be married. Who could have guessed that a three days' illness would have carried him off? But, if he was fated to die, why, oh! why could this event not have happened sooner? A month ago, half, nay, a quarter of the wealth now flowing in upon me would have saved us. I could have flung back his money to the rogue who brought my misfortunes on me, with the hundredfold rate of usury which he claimed, and my only daughter would not have been the price of his vile bargain. I accepted your sacrifice, Eugenie, G.o.d knows not for my own sake, but for that of the name we bear, and to secure my sons' future. Now, when I think that all that bitter sacrifice was in vain, that a short chance delay of a few weeks would have spared it us both, I cannot endure this mockery of Fate.”
He pressed her hand tightly in his. But, by this time, Eugenie had won back all her pride and complete composure. If this ”too late” were terrible in its effect upon her, she did not allow it to be seen.
”You must not speak so, papa,” she replied firmly. ”It would be unjust to your other children. Count Rabenau was such, that we can only formally mourn his death, and it sets you free from much trouble and embarra.s.sment. My marriage only averted the most threatening danger.
There remained burdens enough upon us, which weighed heavily and might one day have brought you again into degrading dependence on that man.
All fear of this is now over for ever, you can pay him back the whole of what you have received, we shall owe him nothing more!”
”But he will owe us,” interrupted Windeg bitterly, ”and he will take good care never to pay his debt; it is the thought of that which turns my joy to gall. A short time back I should have greeted this deliverance with delight, and with the keenest sense of relief, now it drives me to despair on your account.”
Eugenie turned away and bent over some flowers which bloomed in a vase at her side.
”I am not so unhappy as you and my brothers perhaps fancy,” said she, in a low voice.
”Not? Do you think your letters could deceive me? I knew beforehand that you would do all to spare us, but if I could have had a doubt, your pale face would have told the story plainly enough. You are unhappy, Eugenie, you must be unhappy with this man who”----
”Papa, you are speaking of my husband!” The young wife spoke with so much warmth, and rose so hastily from her seat, that her father stepped back and looked at her, astonished at her tone and at the crimson flush which overspread her countenance.
”Forgive me,” said he, recovering himself, ”I cannot accustom myself to the thought that my daughter belongs to an Arthur Berkow, and that I am at the present moment in his house. They oblige me to enter it if I wish to see my own child! But you are right, I must spare you in speaking of the man you have married, though I can see plainly how much you have suffered, and still have to suffer through him.”
The deep glow was fading slowly from Eugenie's face, but there was still a lingering flush on it, as she answered hurriedly,
”You are mistaken, I have no complaint to make of Arthur. He has held himself aloof from the first with a forbearance for which I can only thank him.”
The Baron's eyes kindled.
”I would not advise either him or his father to forget the regard which is due to you. They, of all people, least deserved the honour you have brought to their house, where there was no great honour before. And one satisfaction I can give you, Eugenie: you will not long have to bear a name to which attaches so much meanness, so much roguery to us and to others, roguery none the less shameful that the law cannot touch it. I have taken care that, at least, there shall be an end of that.”