Part 13 (2/2)

Gotzkowsky did not answer immediately. He only gazed firmly and inquiringly into Elise's countenance. Dark and dismal misgivings, which he had often with much difficulty suppressed, now arose again, and filled his soul with angry, desperate thoughts. Like Virginius of old, he would have preferred to kill his daughter to delivering her into the hands of the enemy.

”And why should he go there, and not remain here?” asked he at last with an effort.

”Remember, father,” stammered she, blus.h.i.+ng, ”I--”

She stopped as she met the look of her father, which rested on her with penetrating power--as she read the rising anger of his soul in the tense swollen veins of his brow, and his pale, trembling lips.

Bertram had witnessed this short but impressive scene with increasing terror. Elise's anxiety, her paleness and trembling, the watch which she kept over that door, had not escaped him, even on his entrance, and filled him with painful uneasiness. But as he now recognized in Gotzkowsky's features the signs of an anger which was the more violent for the very reason that he so seldom gave way to it, he felt the necessity of coming to the a.s.sistance of his distressed sister. He approached her father, and laid his hand lightly on his shoulder.

”Elise is right,” said he, entreatingly. ”Respect her maiden hesitation.”

Gotzkowsky turned round upon him with an impatient toss of the head, and stared him full in the face. He then broke into a fit of wild, derisive laughter.

”Yes,” said he, ”we will respect her maiden hesitation. You have spoken wisely, Bertram. Listen: you know the part.i.tion behind the picture of the Madonna in the picture-gallery. Carry our brave friend thither, and take heed that the spring is carefully closed.”

Bertram looked at him sadly and anxiously. He had never before seen this man, usually so calm, so pa.s.sionately excited.

”You will not go with us, father?” asked he.

”No,” said Gotzkowsky, harshly; ”I remain here to await the enemy.”

He cast on Elise, still leaning against the door, a threatening look, which made her heart tremble. Bertram sighed, and had not the courage to go and forsake Elise in this anxious and critical moment.

”Hasten, friend,” said Gotzkowsky, sternly. ”The life of a brave man is at stake. Hasten!”

The young man dared not gainsay him, but he approached Gotzkowsky, and whispered softly: ”Be lenient, father. See how she trembles! Poor sister!”

And with a painful glance at Elise, he took the hand of the artilleryman, and led him out of the room.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE EAVESDROPPER.

Elise was now alone with her father. She had sunk down near the fatal door, and her colorless lips murmured faint prayers.

Gotzkowsky stood there, still relentless; but his agitated countenance, his lowering brow, his flas.h.i.+ng eyes, betrayed the deep and pa.s.sionate emotion of his soul. Struck and wounded fatally in his most sacred feelings, he felt no pity, no compa.s.sion for this poor trembling girl, who followed his every motion with a timid, anxious eye. His whole being was filled with burning rage against his daughter, who, his misgiving heart told him, had trampled his honor in the dust.

A long and dreadful pause occurred. Nothing was heard but Gotzkowsky's loud, heavy breathing, and Elise's low-muttered prayers. Suddenly Gotzkowsky drew himself up, and threw his head proudly back. He then walked to the door leading into the balcony, and to the opposite one, and ascertained that they were both closed. No one could intrude, no one interrupt this fearful dialogue.

Elise was terribly conscious of this, and could only whisper, ”Pity, pity, merciful G.o.d! I shall die with terror!”

Gotzkowsky approached her, and, seizing her hand, raised her rapidly from the floor. ”We are alone now,” said he with a hoa.r.s.e, harsh voice. ”Answer me, now. Who is concealed there in your room?”

”No one, my father.”

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