Part 89 (1/2)

”I know it,” replied Gunther.

At the first posting-house, where they came upon noisy crowds, the postmaster informed them that the election was going on, and that the contest was quite an excited one. The ”Blacks” would certainly be defeated.

Bruno, who had alighted, asked the postillion:

”My n.o.ble fellow-citizen, have you exercised your sovereign right of voting to-day?”

”Yes, and against the 'Blacks'.”

They drove on.

Bruno did not get out at the other stations. They were drawing near to Eberhard's district. While they were changing horses at the a.s.size town, they heard loud cries of: ”Long live Count Eberhard! Victory!”

”What's that?” inquired Gunther, putting his head out of the carriage door.

He was informed that, in spite of the ”Blacks,” Count Eberhard would prove the victor. The opposition had started a contemptible rumor, intended to disgrace the old count. But, although meant to injure others, it had proved a stumbling-block to themselves; for every one had said: ”A father can't help what his child does, and, for that very reason, greater respect should now be shown him.”--Irma drew back into the dark corner of the carriage and held her breath.

They drove on without saying a word.

After they had started, Bruno said it was too warm for him in the carriage, and that it did not agree with him to ride backward. Still, he would not suffer Gunther to change seats with him. He ordered the carriage to stop and, telling the lackey to sit up with the driver, placed himself on the back seat, next to the waiting-maid. Irma took off her hat and laid her head back. It was heavy with sad thoughts. Now and then, when the road lay along the edge of a precipice, she would quickly raise herself in her seat. She felt as if she must plunge into the abyss; but, weak and feeble, she would fall back again. Gunther, too, remained silent; and thus they drove on through the night, without uttering a word.

At one time, the waiting-maid would have laughed out aloud, but Bruno held his hand over her mouth and prevented her.

CHAPTER IV.

It was near midnight when the travelers reached castle Wildenort. The servant said that the count was sleeping, and that the physician who lived in the valley was with him. The country doctor left the sickroom and came out into the ante-chamber to welcome the new arrivals. He was about to describe the case to Gunther, who, however, requested him not to do so until he had himself seen the patient. Accompanied by Irma and Bruno, he went into the sick-room.

Eberhard lay in bed, his head propped up by pillows. His eyes were wide open, and, without showing the slightest emotion, he stared at those who entered, as if they were figures in a dream.

”I greet you, Eberhard, with all my heart,” said Gunther. The sick man's features twitched convulsively, and his eyelids rose quickly and as quickly fell again, while he gropingly put forth his hand toward his old friend. But the hand sank powerless on the coverlet. Gunther grasped it and held it fast.

Irma stood as if rooted to the spot, unable to move or utter a word.

”How are you, papa?” asked Bruno.

With a sudden start, as if a shot had whizzed by his ear, Eberhard turned toward Bruno and motioned to him to leave the room.

Irma knelt down at his bedside, while Eberhard pa.s.sed his trembling hand over her face. It became wet with her tears. Suddenly, he drew it back, as if it had been touching a poisonous reptile. He averted his face and pressed his brow against the wall; and thus he lay for a long while.

Neither Gunther nor Irma spoke a word. Their voices failed them in the presence of him who had been deprived of speech. And now Eberhard turned again and gently motioned his daughter to leave the room. She did so.

Gunther remained alone with Eberhard. It was the first time in thirty years that the two friends had met. Eberhard pa.s.sed Gunther's hand across his eyes, and then shook his head.

Gunther said: ”I know what you mean; you would like to weep, but cannot. Do you understand all I say to you?”

The patient nodded affirmatively.

”Then just imagine,” continued Gunther, and his voice has a rich and comforting tone, ”that the years we've been separated from each other were but one hour. Our measure of time is a different one. Do you still remember how you would often in enthusiastic moments exclaim: 'We've just been living centuries'?”