Part 51 (2/2)
”And your--and the prince?”
”I asked him to take a walk.”
”Raise my head a little!--that's it! Now give me both your hands!”
The patient paused a few moments, and then he spoke with great clearness and decision, so that it was evident he had long contemplated what he was about to say and turned it over in his enfeebled mind.
”My dear child! It is a good thing to be rich, when he who is rich has also a good heart; but I believe it is very rare to find the two together, or to see them stay together. And to be clever is also a good thing, but without a good heart it is worth little.
”Look here, dear child! Your mother and I--we have lived together eighteen years, and, next to G.o.d, I have loved and honored your mother more than all things. I think she has taken pains to love me back again, and I do not blame her if she has not succeeded. No, not her, only myself. I ought to have taken a wife who was more suitable to my age and to my ways; but I was vain and proud, and I wanted a handsome, stately, and clever wife, such as the world admires, and your mother was handsome, stately, and clever; far too pretty and too clever for me, an insignificant, simple man, who never was made for the great world. I felt it, therefore, all the time in my heart that I was not the man to make your mother happy; but she never let me know it distinctly until quite recently.”
The old man bowed his gray head sadly, and repeated:
”Quite recently--when she wanted you to marry your cousin Felix, and I could not say Yes! and amen! to it--then I saw very clearly that we thought and felt in the most important and most sacred things so very differently; and whether I was right or she, that does not matter now; but, my dear child, it is a bad thing when those who ought to love each other cannot do it--a bad thing, my dear child, which may easily break a heart!”
And as the old man spoke these words the tears were rolling down his pale, wrinkled cheeks.
Helen sat there, silent and pale. Her hands trembled. Her father's words had apparently touched her to the heart.
”Therefore,” continued the baron, after a short pause, ”it has always been my principle, that parents ought not to interfere with the affections of their children, but only to pray to G.o.d that He would lead their hearts to choose well. Thus I have left you your choice, then and now. Then you could not decide; now you have decided. I cannot conceal it from you that I cannot understand the prince, and that I wish your future husband were less grand and less rich; but, as it is, I hope G.o.d will turn it to the best. You are a good, clever girl, and I think you cannot have chosen thoughtlessly, or from mere ambition; no!
no! not thoughtlessly, nor from ambition, for you are my good, clever girl!” repeated the old man, as Helen, unable to control her emotion any longer, hid her beautiful head on his bosom, and gave way to a pa.s.sionate fit of weeping.
”What is the matter, girl?” he said, frightened by this sudden vehemence; and then, as if a flash of lightning had lighted up for an instant the dark places in his daughter's heart, ”For G.o.d's sake, child, you have not let your eyes be dazzled by Mammon! You do not love the prince? You have not followed the voice of your heart, which warned you against the stern dark man, but the counsels of your mother? Oh, my child! my unfortunate child! My fears, then, were not groundless! But it is time yet to turn back. I will speak myself with the prince; I will speak with him at once; he will have pity on a poor old man, who is sick unto death.”
And he raised himself with spasmodic efforts in his bed.
It was a terrible struggle which was raging in Helen's heart while the baron said these words. Was there really a way yet out of this horrible labyrinth, in which she had lost herself? Could the step, the fatal step, be retraced? At what price? At the price of seeing her pride humbled! Her proud betrothed was to have pity! Pity with her poor old father! Pity with herself! Never ... Never!
”No, no, no!” she cried, seizing both of her father's hands. ”You are mistaken, father! I am not unhappy! I have not been dazzled and tempted! I--I love the prince--I shall love him--I will try to love him--I will----”
She could not continue; her throat was closed by a spasm; her pale lips moved, but were unable to shape the words with which she uttered her own sentence of death.
”Oh, great G.o.d!” prayed the old man, ”enlighten my child's heart!
Child! child! Do not let your father leave this world with such a terrible doubt on his mind! Oh, if I could but tell you all as I feel it. Ah, this pain! My G.o.d ... My ...”
The sufferer fell back on his pillow.
Helen held him in her arms.
”Papa! dear papa! I will do all you ask; for I will tell the prince--great G.o.d! what is that?”
The hands of the old man began to tremble; cold perspiration bedewed his brow.
It was Death! Helen saw it with horror, and no help at hand--no help!
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