Seed-time and Harvest Part 48

"Can you make such a declaration to your own conscience? Would you, in your unjust excitement and with wanton cruelty, cast such a stain upon sixty years of honorable life?"

This touched Axel, and cooled him off a little, and he said peevishly, for his unnatural excitement was wearing off, "I have not said that he has done it; I only said he might have done it."

"The suspicion," said Franz coldly, "is as bad as the other, as bad for _yourself_ as for the old man. Remember, Axel," said he, impressively, laying his hand on his cousin's shoulder, "how long the old man has been, to your father and yourself, a faithful, upright steward! To me,"

he added, in a lower tone, "he was more, he has been my friend and teacher."

Axel walked up and down, he felt that he was wrong,--at least, for the moment,--but to confess, freely and fully, that he had endeavoured to shove off the blame of his own foolishness and untruthfulness upon another was too much, he had not the clear courage to do it. He began to chaffer and bargain with himself, and availed himself of the expedient which the weak and dishonest are always ready to employ,--he carried the war into the enemy's camp. In every age, up to the present time, truth is yet sold, in a weak human soul, for thirty pieces of silver.

"Oh, to _you_!" said he, "he would like to be still more to you."

"What do you mean?" asked Franz, turning round on him sharply.

"Oh," said Axel, "nothing more! I only mean you may call him 'Papa,' by and by."

There was an unworthiness in this speech, in the intention to offend the man who had been firm enough to tell him the truth. Franz flushed a deep red. His deepest, holiest secret was brought to light, and in this insulting manner! The blood rushed to his face; but he restrained himself, and said, shortly:

"That has nothing to do with the matter."

"Why not?" said Axel. "It at least explains the warmth with which you defend your Herr Habermann."

"The man needs no defence of mine, his whole life defends him."

"And his lovely daughter," said Axel, striding up and down, in great triumph.

A great pa.s.sion rose in Franz's soul, but he restrained himself, and asked, quietly, "Do you know her?"

"Yes--no--that is to say, I have seen her; I have seen her at the parsonage, and she has often been here, with my wife, and my wife also has visited her. I know her merely by sight; a pretty girl, a very pretty girl, 'pon honor! I was pleased with her, as a child, at my father's funeral."

"And when you learned, that she was dear to me, did you not seek a nearer acquaintance?"

"No, Franz, no! Why should I? I knew, of course, that nothing serious could come of such an attachment."

"Then you knew more than I."

"Oh, I know more still, I know how they set traps and snares for you, and were always contriving ways to catch you."

"And from whom did you learn all this? But why do I ask? Such childish gossip could have been hatched in but one house, in the whole region.

But since we have mentioned the matter, I will tell you frankly, that I certainly do intend to marry the girl, that is, if she does not refuse me."

"She would better beware! She would better beware!" exclaimed Axel, springing about the room, in his anger. "Will you really commit this folly? And will you give me this affront?"

"Axel, look to your words!" cried Franz, whose temper was getting the upper hand. "What business is it of yours?"

"What? Does it not not concern _me_, as the oldest representative of our old family, if one of the younger members disgraces himself by a _mesalliance_."

Yet once more Franz restrained himself, and said:

"You yourself married from pure inclination, and without regard for subordinate matters.

"That is quite another thing," said Axel, with authority, believing now that he had the advantage. "My wife's family is as good as mine, she is the daughter of an old house; your beloved is the daughter of my inspector, adopted out of pity and kindness, by the Pastor's family."

"For shame!" cried Franz, pa.s.sionately, "to make an innocent child suffer for a great misfortune!"

"It is all the same to me," roared Axel, "I will _not_ call my inspector's daughter cousin; the girl shall never cross my threshold!"

All the blood which had rushed through Franz's veins and flushed his face, a moment before, struck to his heart; he stood pale before his cousin, and said in a voice, which trembled with intense excitement:

"You have said it. You have spoken the word which divides us. Louise shall never cross your threshold, neither will I."

He turned to go; at the door he was met by Frida, who had heard the quarrel in the next room: "Franz, Franz, what is the matter?"

"Farewell, Frida," said he, hastily, and went out, towards the farm-house.

"Axel," cried Frida, running up to her husband, "what have you done?

What have you done?"

"I have showed a young man," said Axel, striding up and down the room, as if he had fought a great battle with the world-out-of-joint, and made everything right again, "I have showed a young fellow, who wanted to make a fool of himself over a pretty face, his true standpoint."

"Have you dared to do that?" said Frida, sinking, pale, into a chair, and gazing with her great, clear eyes at her husband's triumphal march through the room, "have you dared to thrust your petty pride of birth between the pure emotions of two n.o.ble hearts?"

"Frida," said Axel, and he knew very well that he had done wrong, and his conscience smote him, but he could not confess it, "I believe I have done my duty."

Any one may notice, if he will, that the people who never in their lives do their duty always make the most use of the word.

"Ah!" cried Frida, springing up, "you have deeply wounded an upright, honest heart! Axel," she begged, laying her folded hands on his shoulder, "Franz has gone into the farm-house, follow him, and repair the injury you have done! Bring him back to us again!"

"Apologize to him, in the presence of my inspector? No, rather not at all! Oh, it is charming!" and he worked himself again into a pa.s.sion, "my two thousand thalers are stolen, my inspector finds fault with me, my Herr Cousin stands by his dear father-in-law, and now my own wife joins herself to the company!"

Frida looked at him, loosened her hands, and, throwing a shawl over her shoulders, said, "If you will not go, I will," and went out, hearing him call after her, "Yes, go! go! But the old sneak shall clear out!"

As she crossed the court, they were bringing round Franz's carriage, and as she entered the inspector's room Habermann had just been saying to the young man, "Herr von Rambow, you will forget it. You have spent your life hitherto, in our small circle; if you travel,--as I should think advisable,--then you will have other thoughts. But, dear Franz,"

said the old man, so trustingly, in his recollection of earlier times, "you will not disturb the heart of my child?"

"No, Habermann," said Franz, just as the young Frau entered the room.

"Good heavens!" cried Habermann, "I have forgotten something. You will excuse me, gracious lady!" and he left the room.

"Always considerate, always discreet!" said Frida.

"Yes, that he is," said Franz, looking after the old man. The carriage drove up, but it was kept waiting; the two had much to say to each other, and, when at last Franz got into the carriage, Frida's eyes were red, and Franz also dashed away a tear.

"Greet the good old man for me," said he, "and greet Axel, also," he added, in a lower tone, as he pressed her hand.

The carriage drove off.