Part 59 (1/2)

Wolf heard the hoofs behind him and glanced round hastily. The rider was between himself and the sentry. Only a few more steps and he would be in the forest and under cover, if the horse did not reach him before that. At a stroke the despairing wish for a martyr's death had vanished. He no longer wished to die; he wanted to live and be free.

Freedom was awaiting him, there in the forest towards which his hurrying feet were carrying him. How would they ever be able to find him in that thick labyrinth of young pine-trees? He would break through the undergrowth at the forest's edge and take a lateral direction; then he would lie crouching on the ground and let the bullets whistle over his head.

From behind him sounded the second ”Halt!” The sentry's voice rang more sharply and insistently.

Yes, shout as you like! He was only a few paces from the forest's edge; a little ditch separated it from the parade-ground, but it was only about a yard wide and easy to leap.

Wolfs plan was made.

He knew that the forest extended to the outskirts of the town. The first houses of the suburb were built among the trees. Workmen dwelt there--iron-founders and metal-workers--members of his party. They or some compa.s.sionate woman would certainly give the fugitive some cast-off clothes, and then he thought he could make for the frontier.

From behind came the third warning ”Halt!”

The mounted orderly had apparently perceived the hopelessness of his efforts, and had reined in his horse; the sound of hoofs was no more to be heard. Now for the ditch!

He sprang. He thought he could smell already the powerful odour of the fir-trees. There, a little to the left, was an opening in the thicket; he could slip in there and be safe.

Then, midway in his leap, a bullet struck him in the nape of the neck.

He stumbled forward with his face buried in the haven of the undergrowth, his eyes gazing forwards towards the land of freedom.

Some weeks later the head physician of the military hospital in the capital gave a lecture, with ill.u.s.trations, before the Medical Society, ”Upon an interesting case of the effects of small bore ammunition.”

CHAPTER XVI

[Ill.u.s.tration: (Trumpet-call at tattoo.)]

Senior-Lieutenant Reimers sought an interview with his colonel, and frankly confided his trouble to him. In a sad, hopeless voice he told the whole story, concealing nothing.

There was, in fact, nothing to hide. The thoughtless behaviour which had had such serious consequences was in itself one of those offences which society looks upon as venial. But he reproached himself chiefly with the breach of faith towards Marie Falkenhein, to whom he considered himself to have been virtually betrothed, in allowing himself to be carried away by the impulse of a moment's folly.

When Reimers had finished the colonel sat for a long time silent. He leant his cheek on his hand and looked gloomily before him. During this confidential interview his daughter had not been alluded to in a single syllable, but in every word that the young officer spoke sounded an echo of painful regret for a much-desired happiness now lost to him. Of a sudden those fair prospects that the colonel had thought based on such a solid foundation had fallen to the ground. It was a bitter grief to him to see the pleasant vision destroyed, and he knew that a heavy sorrow was in store for his child.

At last he broke the silence.

”My poor boy,” he said, ”I wish I knew what I could say to comfort you, for I do not want to reproach you. You have enough to bear already in payment for a moment of thoughtlessness. You have gambled away one of your best chances of earthly happiness. Nevertheless, be brave; set your teeth and do not let your feelings overcome you. You have a proud and honourable calling, and have a real vocation for it. Let that be your consolation.” His voice broke off short, trembling with inward emotion.

Reimers murmured in some confusion: ”I am very much obliged to you, sir.” And the two men sat for awhile opposite each other in silence.

”After this,” the colonel continued with some hesitation and difficulty, ”you will probably wish to get away for a change. I therefore advise you to go up for the winter examination at the Staff College. There is no doubt about your getting through. The work will prevent you from brooding over your thoughts, and afterwards there will be Berlin and entire change of surroundings. All that will be helpful to you.”

Falkenhein's voice became softer, and s.h.i.+elding his eyes with his hand, he continued in a scarcely audible whisper: ”It would be advisable that you should withdraw a little from society; and of course to any unavoidable questions it will be necessary to invent an answer of some sort. It seems to me it will be best to say that your old lung-trouble obliges you to take certain precautions. Is that agreed?”

With a sob the senior-lieutenant stammered out, ”You have always been like a father to me, sir.”

He had stood up and was about to depart without another word. Then suddenly the colonel took him in his arms. This seasoned, clear-headed man had great difficulty in restraining his emotion.

”I have long looked on you as a son, Reimers,” he said. ”And that all this has turned out so differently from my expectations is a grief to me, a very great grief. I cannot tell you how great.”

Reimers took his departure. The colonel looked after him till the portiere fell.