Part 25 (1/2)

'Can you really still intend to take that journey?'

'No, I shall remain; but I must be out in the open air, or I shall stifle. Let me go, uncle.'

'First give me your word that you will do nothing rash, nothing desperate. In your present state, you are capable of any madness. What am I to say to your mother?'

'What you will. I have no other intention than to ride about the country for a couple of hours. Perhaps I shall be better then.'

With these words Edmund hurried away, his uncle making no further effort to stop him. He saw that neither persuasion nor soothing words of comfort could avail at present. Perhaps it would be well to let the storm spend itself.

Hour after hour pa.s.sed. Noon came, then gradually dusk drew on, and still the young Count did not appear. At the castle the anxiety produced by his protracted absence grew with every minute. Baron Heideck reproached himself most bitterly for having allowed his nephew to leave him in so excited a frame of mind, but he was obliged to conceal his fears. He had to be strong, to think and act for his sister, whose brain seemed well-nigh to reel beneath the weight of dread and suspense. She wandered from room to room, from window to window, rejecting all her brother's attempts at encouragement with a mute, despairing gesture. Better than he, than anyone, she knew her son, and knew therefore what was to be feared.

'It really is useless for us to send messengers, Constance,' said Heideck, as he stood near her at the window. 'We have not even an approximate idea of the road Edmund took, and it only causes the servants to shake their heads and gossip more persistently. The young madman must have tired himself out by this time. Now that it is growing dark he is sure to turn homewards.'

'If he has not started on his journey after all,' whispered the Countess, whose eyes never once swerved from the avenue leading up to the castle.

'No,' replied Heideck decidedly. 'I made it evident to him that his confession would involve another, and who that other would be; we have nothing to fear on that score. He has certainly not gone to Oswald, but----'

He forebore to finish his speech, out of consideration to the Countess, but a great dread had seized upon him. Might not his nephew, by some despairing act, have sought a solution which would be worse, more cruel even than the threatened avowal to Oswald?

Another troubled pause ensued, another interval of painful silence, such as had frequently occurred that afternoon. Suddenly the Countess started up with a cry, and bent forward, far out of the window.

Heideck, following her example, could discern nothing, but the mother's eye had already recognised the figure of her son, in spite of mist and gathering darkness. There he was--still distant, however--at the farther end of the avenue. The Countess's self-control now utterly forsook her. She did not remember that a plea of illness had been advanced for her to the servants: did not stay to consider how Edmund might receive her. She only wanted to see him; to have him with her again, and she rushed to meet him, so swiftly and impetuously that her brother could hardly follow her.

Outside in the vestibule they had a few minutes to wait, for the young Count, who had set off from home at a furious gallop, was returning at a snail's pace. The horse, fairly bathed in sweat, trembled in every limb; at length it halted before the door. The animal was evidently completely spent, and its rider seemed to be in the same condition.

He, who usually would swing himself so lightly from the saddle, dismounted now slowly, almost laboriously, and it cost him a visible effort to ascend the few steps leading up to the entrance-hall.

The Countess stood on the very spot where some months before she had received her son on his return from his foreign travels. Then, radiant with the happiness of meeting her, he had rushed impetuously into her arms. Today he did not even notice that his mother was there. His clothes were saturated with rain, his damp hair clung to his brow, and he moved slowly forward, never looking round, but walking straight in towards the staircase.

'Edmund!'

It was a faint, trembling cry. Edmund turned, and beheld his mother standing close before him. She said not another word, but in her eyes he could read the misery, the anguish of the last few hours. And as she stretched forth her arms to him, he did not recoil, but stooped down to her. His lips met her forehead with a damp and icy touch, and in a whisper, audible to her alone, he said:

'Be at peace, mother. I will try and bear it for your sake.'

CHAPTER XII.

Two months had now pa.s.sed since Oswald had taken up his abode in the capital, where he had met with a most friendly welcome. His friend and patron, Councillor Braun, ranked among the first jurisconsults of that city, and this gentleman, happy to lend a helping hand to the son of his deceased friend, stood warmly by him, advancing his interests, and lending him all the a.s.sistance in his power. He comprehended and sympathized with this young man in the resolution he had taken. It was a worthy impulse, the old lawyer felt, which withdrew Oswald from a life of dependence, easy and brilliant though it might be in outward circ.u.mstances--a right feeling which made him prefer to work and struggle on alone, rather than to receive constant benefits from his relations, and submit, in return, to play a subordinate part through life.

Herr Braun and his wife were childless, and their young guest was received by them almost on the footing of a son. Oswald threw himself zealously into the work before him, and the approaching examination left him little leisure to ruminate on all that he had left at Ettersberg; still, it surprised him greatly that no news from the castle had reached him. Edmund had replied to his first long letter full of details by only a few lines, the style of which seemed strangely forced.

An excuse was offered for this brief note on the score of a maimed hand, the writer's wound being not yet healed. Oswald was still looking for a response to his second epistle, though weeks had elapsed since it had been despatched.

The young man knew full well that by the return of that picture the bridge of communication between himself and the Countess had been broken once and for all, that she would now use every effort to loose the bonds which bound him to her son; but it seemed impossible that Edmund should succ.u.mb so quickly and completely to her influence.

Thoughtless as the young Count often showed himself, his friends.h.i.+p for his cousin had ever been faithful and true. He could not have forgotten the friend of his youth in the course of a few short weeks.

There must be something else that prevented his writing.

The first days of December had arrived. Oswald's examination was over; he had pa.s.sed it brilliantly, and was desirous of at once entering upon his new career. But Councillor Braun declared decidedly that after the exertions of the last few weeks the young man stood in need of rest, that he must grant himself a respite, and remain on some little while longer as a guest in his house.

Half reluctantly Oswald yielded. He felt himself that he required a certain breathing-time after the constant study and strain, which had lasted since the preceding spring.