As Madame de Heidendorf's mornings were always passed in receiving the visits or answering the letters of her political acquaintances, Kate was free to spend her hours with Frank, exchanging confidences, and talking of that dear home from which they were more separated even by circumstance than by space.
The cadet had obtained leave for the entire day,—an inconceivable favor in his eyes,—and Kate was seated at her breakfast when he appeared. When they met the day before, Frank's undivided attention had been drawn to Kate herself,—the change in her whole air and manner, that graceful dignity of mien which elevated his regard for her to a species of worship. Now, however, he had time to be struck with the accessories of her position,—the gorgeous chamber, the splendid silver of the service, the rich liveries, everything which bespoke her proud and affluent condition.
“I almost start back with shame, Kate,” said he, “if, in passing these great mirrors, I catch a glimpse of my humble figure, so unsuited does it seem to magnificence like this; nor can I help thinking that your household agrees with me. With all their respectful courtesy, they must wonder when they look on the brother of their Princess.”
“You know well, dearest Frank, that in your service the highest in the land must pass the ordeal of cadetship.”
“Which means half an hour for an archduke, and a forenoon for a serene highness. Even Walstein took but a week to spring from the ranks to a lieutenancy; a month later saw him a rittmeister; and already he commands a regiment.”
“What a young soldier to have caught up the complaining cant about slow promotion!” said Kate, laughing.
“Ten months a cadet, and not even made corporal yet!” sighed Frank. “To be sure, I might have been, had it not been for the 'stockhaus.'”
“And what may that be, dear Frank?”
“The prison; neither more nor less. When I came here, Kate, the nephew or grand-nephew of the Feld-Marschall von Auersberg, I thought it became me to assume something like style in my mode of life. My comrades told me as much, too; and as I had no difficulty in obtaining credit, I ran in debt everywhere. I lent to all who asked me, and gave away to many more. Every one said the Feld would pay one day or other, and I never confessed how poor we were at home. I know I was wrong there, dearest Kate; I feel that acutely now; but somehow the deception I began with others gained even more rapidly on myself. From continually talking of our Dalton blood, and our high position in our own country, I grew to believe it all, and fancied that some, at least, of these imaginings must be real. But, above all, I cherished the hope that promotion would come at last, and that I should live to be an honored soldier of the Kaiser.
“In the very midst of all this self-deception, the Feld returns to Vienna from a tour of inspection, and, instead of sending to see me, orders my Colonel to his presence. I know not, of course, what passed, but report alleges that for an hour the old General harangued him in terms the most bitter and insulting. Now, my dear sister, the wrath poured out upon a commanding officer does not become diminished as it descends through the successive grades of rank, and falls at last on the private. For my misdemeanor the regiment was ordered away from Vienna, and sent to Laybach, in the very depth of winter too. This could not help my popularity much among my comrades; and as I was now as destitute of credit as of means, you may fancy the alteration of my position,—the black bread of the commissary instead of the refined cookery of the 'Schwan;' the midnight patrol, in rain or snow-drift, in place of the Joyous carouse of the supper-table; the rude tyranny of a vulgar sergeant, in lieu of the friendly counsels of an equal; all that is menial and servile,—and there is enough of both in the service,—heaped upon me day after day; till, at last, my only hope was in the chance that I might ultimately imbibe the rude feelings of the peasant-soldier, and drag out my existence without a wish or a care for better.
“As if to make life less endurable to me, the officers were forbidden to hold intercourse with me; even such of the cadets as were above the humbler class were ordered not to associate with me; my turns of duty were doubled; my punishments for each trifling offence increased; and there I was, a soldier in dress, a convict in duty, left to think over all the flattering illusions I had once conceived of the service, its chivalry, and its fame.
“I wrote to Walstein, telling him that if I could not obtain my freedom otherwise, I would desert. A copy of my letter, I know not how obtained, was sent to my Colonel, and I was sentenced to a month's arrest, a week of which I was to pass in irons. They now made me a rebel in earnest, and I came out of the 'stockbaus' more insubordinate than I went in. It would weary, and it would fret you, dearest sister, were I to tell all the petty schemes I formed of resistance, and all the petty tyrannies they brought down upon my head; the taunt of my 'gentle blood,' my 'noble origin,' my 'high descent,' being added to every cruelty they practised, till I was ready to curse the very name that associated me with this bitterness. They told me that a second desertion was always punished with death, and that even the attempt was accounted as the act. I resolved, then, to finish with this dreary existence, and I wrote a farewell letter to poor Nelly, telling her that, as I was certain of being taken, these were the last lines I should ever write. In this I repeated all I have now told you, and a vast deal more, of the hardships and indignities I had endured; and this, like my former letter, was sent back to me. Then came three months more of durance, after which I came out what they deemed a good soldier.”
“Subdued at last!” sighed Kate.
“Not a bit of it. Like a Banat charger I had a kick in me, after all their teaching and training. I found out the lance-corporal of our company was the man who had discovered my letters. I sent him a challenge, fought, and wounded him. Here was another offence; and now the Minister of War was to deal with me himself; and I half fancied they would be glad to get rid of me. Far from it The 'stockhaus' again, and short fetters, my wrist to my ankle, were the sovereign remedies for all misdeeds. In this plight I made my entrance into Vienna.”
“Did you never think of Uncle Stephen all this while, Frank,——never appeal to him?”
“Ay, Kate, and what was worse, he thought of me, for he had my punishment-rolls brought to him; and although from some good-natured interference they did not forward more than a fourth of my misdeeds, there was enough to condemn me in his eyes, and he wrote, 'No favor to this cadet,' on the back of my certificate.”
“Poor boy! so friendless and deserted.”
“Persecuted by creditors, too,” continued Frank, as, excited by the recital of his sorrows, he paced the room in a transport of anger; “fellows that never rested till they got me in their books, and now gave me no peace for payment. Out of three kreutzers a day, Kate,—a penny English,—I was to discharge all the debts of my extravagance, and live in style! A Dalton, well born and nurtured, in a position of ignominious poverty!”
“Not one to aid you?”
“Walstein was away in Bohemia with his regiment; and, perhaps, it were better so, for I had told him such narratives of our family, such high-flown stories of our princely possessions, that I could not have had the courage to face him with an avowal of the opposite. At last I did make a friend, Kate; at least one poor fellow took an interest in me, talked to me of home, of you and Nelly; mostly of her, and of her curious carvings, which he prized almost as much as little Hans used. He sat with me many an hour under the trees of the Prater, or we strolled along in the shady alleys of the 'Augarten;' and his companionship somehow always soothed and comforted me, for he was so stored with book learning that he could ever bring out something from Uhland or Richter or Wieland that suited the moment, just as if the poet had one in his mind when he wrote it. How often have I wished that I was like him, Kate, and had a mind like his, teeming with its own resources against sorrow.”
“Tell me more of him, Frank dearest; I feel an interest in him already.”
“And yet you would scarcely have liked him, if you saw him,” said the boy, with a bashful and hesitating manner.
“Why not, Frank? His appearance might have been little promising, his face and figure commonplace—”
“No, no; not that,—not that Adolf was good-looking, with a fine, clear brow, and a manly, honest face; nor was his manner vulgar,—at least, for his station. He was a pedler.”
“A pedler, Frank,” cried Kate, growing scarlet as she spoke.
“Ay, I knew well how you would hear the word,” said the boy; “I often used to fancy my high-bred sister's scorn if she could but have seen the companion whose arm lay around my neck, and who spoke to me as 'thou.'”
Kate made no answer, but her cheek was crimson, and her lip trembled.
“You and Walstein were never out of my thoughts,” continued Frank; “for I could fancy how each of you would look down upon him.”
“Not that, Frank,” said she, in confusion; “if he were indeed kind to you,—if he were a true friend in that time of dreariness and gloom.”
“So was he,——with hand and heart and purse. And yet,—confound that sense of pride, which poisons every generous movement of the heart and will not let it throb in unison with one of humble fortune!—I never could get the Dalton out of my head. There it was, with that lumbering old fabric of an Irish house, our wasteful habits, and our idle dependants, all going down to ruin together; and instead of despising myself for this, I only was ashamed—at what, think you?—of my friendship for a pedler! Many a holiday have I kept my barrack-room rather than be seen with Adolf in the Volks Garten or the Graben. I liked to be along with him in the solitude of the Prater, or in our country walks; but when he asked me to accompany him to the café or the theatre, Kate, to some ordinary in the Leopoldstadt, or some wine-cellar on the Danube, I used to feign duty, or actually take a comrade's guard, to avoid it How meanly you think of me for all this, Kate! I see, by the flush upon your cheek, what shame the confession has given you.”
Kate's confusion grew almost intolerable; she twice tried to speak, but the effort was above her strength, and Frank, who mistook her silence for rebuke, at last went on,——
“You may guess, Kate, from what I have now told you, how much soldiering has realized all my early hopes and ambitions. I suppose times were different long ago.”
“Of course they were, or Uncle Stephen would not now be a field-marshal.”
As if in echo to her words, at this moment a servant, throwing wide the door, announced “The Feld” himself. Frank fell back as the old General advanced into the room, bowing with a courtesy that would have done honor to a courtier. He was dressed in the uniform of his rank, and wore all his decorations,—a goodly mass, that covered one entire side of his coat.
Approaching Kate with a manner of admirably blended affection and respect, he kissed her hand, and then saluted her on either cheek. “Forgive me, my dear niece,” said be, “if I have not been earlier to pay my respects, and say welcome to Vienna; but my note will have told you that I was on duty yesterday with the Emperor.”
Kate blushed and bowed, for unhappily she had not read the note through. Frank's presence had made her forget all but himself. With all the gallantry of his bygone school, the old Feld proceeded to compliment Kate on her beauty and grace, expressing in proper phrase his pride at the possession of such a relative.
“The Empress was the first to tell me of your arrival,” said he; “and nothing could be more gracious than the terms in which she spoke of you.”
With a thrill of pleasure Kate heard these words, and greedily drank in every syllable he uttered. Not alone her betrothal to the Prince, but all the circumstances of her future destiny, seemed to be matters of deep interest to the Court, and poor Kate listened with wonder to the Feld as he recounted the various speculations her marriage had given rise to. She little knew within what a narrow circle the sympathies of royalty are forced to revolve, and how glad they are of anything to relieve the tedious monotony of existence. One most important question had already arisen, since the Empress had expressed a wish that the young Princess should be presented to her; but Madame de Heidendorf refused her permission, on the ground that she had not yet been presented at the Court of the Czar. All the difficulties of the two cases, the arguments for either course, the old General deployed with an earnestness that if it at first amused, at last deeply interested Kate; the flattering sense of self-importance giving a consequence to trifles which, if told of another, she would have smiled at.
“I was desirous of gratifying the Empress before I saw you, my dear niece,” said he, taking her hand; “but you may guess how much greater is my anxiety now that I have learned to know you. It will be, indeed, a proud day for the old Field-Marshal when he shall present one of his own name and family, so gifted and so beautiful. A thorough Dalton!” added he, gazing on her with rapture.
“How glad am I, sir, to see that all the distinctions your great career has won have not effaced the memory of our old name and house.”
“I have but added to it another as noble as itself,” replied he, haughtily. “Others have given their energies to degrade our ancient lineage. It is to be your task and mine, Madame la Princesse, to replace us in our rightful station.”
Kate instinctively sought out Frank with her eyes, but could barely catch a glimpse of his figure within a recess of a window. More than once the poor cadet had meditated an escape; but as the door was on the opposite side of the room, he saw discovery would be inevitable. With a graceful courtesy the old Feld asked after Father and Nelly, expressing his wish to see and know them, in terms which plainly conveyed to Kate his utter ignorance of their station and habits.
“As a younger son myself, without the ties of fortune, I may be permitted to doubt how far the head of a distinguished house has a right, from any considerations of personal gratification, to reside away from his country, Madame. I must own that my nephew's conduct in this respect has not met my approval. I have not felt free to tell him so, our intercourse being for so many years interrupted; but you will say as much for me. Let him know that the great names of a nation ought not to die out in people's memories.”
“You are aware, sir,” said Kate, timidly, “that papa's means are not as they once were; circumstances of economy first suggested his coming abroad.”
“A reason that always has appeared to me insufficient,” said the other, sternly. “He could have reduced his establishment at home—fewer hunters—less splendid banquets.”
“Hunters and banquets!” sighed Kate; “how little he knows of us!”
“Here I see nothing but the best fruits of his system,” said he, kissing her hand with gallantry; “no cost could be accounted too much that aided the attainment of such perfection. I am too old a courtier not to distinguish between mere native gracefulness and that more polished elegance which comes of refined intercourse. My niece is worthy to be a princess! But your brother—”
“Oh! what of dear Frank?” cried she, eagerly.
“Simply this, Madame: habits of wasteful expenditure have unsuited him to the stern realities of a soldier's life. With his fortune and his tastes, he should have sought service among those popinjays that English tailors make lancers or hussars of. He might have won the laurels that are gathered on Honnslow or St. James's Park; he might have been distinguished in that barbaric warfare you call an Indian campaign; but here, in this empire, where soldiering means discipline, self-denial, hardship, endurance!—I was eight years a cadet, Madame, twelve a sous-lieutenant. I saw the decoration I should have received given to another. The Dienst Kreutz I had won was refused me, because I had not served twenty years; and yet, by accepting these and hundreds like them as the inevitable necessities of the service, I am what now you see me.”
“And if Frank will be but patient—”
“He may be a corporal within a year, Madame,” said the Feld, gravely, and with the air of a man who had advanced a somewhat bold pledge.
“But he must be an officer within a week, sir,” said Kate, taking the General's hand within her own. “I seldom ask favors, and as seldom are they refused me. The chivalry of Austria will surely suffer no attaint from one whose distinction it is to be your relative, and a Dalton. Nay, dear uncle, this is the first, the very first request I have ever made of you. It would not be meet for me to say, in your presence, what a guerdon is his name for his good conduct.”
“You are too sanguine, Madame. You do not know this boy.”
“Every thought of his heart I know,—every hope that sustains him. He himself has told me all his shortcomings.”
“His insubordination?”
“Yes.”
“Extravagance?”
“Yes.”
“His days of imprisonment?”
“Yes.”
“His arrests in irons?”
“All—everything; and what are they, save the boyish excesses of one who, carried away by high spirits, and buoyed up by the flattering sense of relationship to a great and distinguished name, has been led on to follies by the mere native warmth of temperament? It is easy to see how little he thought of himself, and how much of his uncle!”
The old General shook his head dubiously.
“There, dear uncle,” said she, pressing him into a seat before a table with writing-materials, “take that pen and write.”
“Write what, dear child?” said he, with a softness very different from his usual manner.
“I know nothing of the forms, nor the fitting phrases. All I want is that Frank should have his sword-knot.”
“You have learned the proper word, I see,” said he, smiling, while he balanced the pen doubtingly in his fingers “The Colonel of his regiment is an imperial prince.”
“So much the better, uncle. A Hapsburg will know how to reward a Dalton.”
“So, then, we begin thus,” said the old General, whose half-suppressed smile showed that he was merely jesting with her eagerness: “'Imperial Highness,—the Cadet von Dalton, whose distinction it is to be the grand-nephew of a very old soldier, and the brother of a very young princess—'”
“Nay, surely, this will not do,” said Kate.
“'A very young princess,” resumed the Feld, as he continued to write, “'who, confiding in her own captivations and your Highnesses gallantry—'”
“This is but jesting with me, uncle, and I am serious,” said she, poutingly.
“And am not I serious, too, Madame?” cried he, laying down the pen. “If I ask promotion for a boy whose whole career has been one infraction of discipline, whose services are all inscribed in the Provost-Marshal's return, is it not better that I should press his claims on the merits of others than dwell upon his own misconduct? My dear child,” said he, affectionately, “there are natures that cannot bear a too sudden prosperity, as there are individuals who cannot endure too sudden changes of climate. Our Dalton blood has a little of this same infirmity. Shall I tell you how I won my first step in the service? I was at Hohenkirchen when Morea began his celebrated retreat through the defiles of the Schwartzwald. The company in which I served as a simple corporal occupied a large farm-house, on an elevated plateau, above the road to Schweinfurt. We could see for miles along the valley, and our position was taken up to observe the movement of the enemy, and immediately report when his advanced guard came in sight. Our orders also were to hold the place as long as we were able, and delay as much as possible the enemy's advance; in other words, if we could retard him by half a day, at the sacrifice of our party, our duty would be well done. These unpleasant situations arise now and then in war; but one comfort is, they seldom occur twice to the same man!”
“The captain who commanded us was an old officer, who had borne his slow promotion with many a heart-burning, and now resolved, come what might, to win his grade.
“Without waiting for the enemy, he took a patrol party, and set out to meet them. We never saw them again! Our lieutenant, alike impatient, determined on a reconnaissance, He had scarcely been gone half an hour, when a quick rattling of fire-arms told us that he was engaged with the enemy. One man alone returned to tell us that the rest had fallen, and that the enemy was approaching in force. The command now devolved on me. I had been four times passed over in promotion, distinct acts of service left unnoticed, and my claims as much ignored as if I was the veriest dolt. I will not pretend to say that I bore these disappointments without pain; but they taught me one lesson at least, 'that duty is above all consideration of self.' I well knew what was expected of us, and resolved, if possible, to fulfil it. I prepared at once for a stout resistance,—a hopeless, of course, but an obstinate one. Well, I will not imitate the tardiness of the duty by a similar prolixity. We held the farm for two hours, during which the roof was twice on fire from the enemy's shells; and when, at length, they stormed the place, our defence was reduced to eight men, commanded by a corporal with two shot-wounds in his chest. We were made prisoners, and carried away to Strasburg, from whence I was exchanged under a cartel, and came back to my regiment as a lieutenant. Had I merely sought promotion, Madame, and followed the dictates of ambition and not of duty, I had perhaps fallen like the others. It was in the very forgetfulness of myself lay my prosperity and my reward.”
Kate's eyes sought out Frank, resolved on one effort more for her object, but the boy was gone. He had contrived to slip away unseen during the conversation, and was now waiting at the corner of the street, impatient for the General's departure, to return to his sister.
“I am to have the honor of dining in your company to-day,” said the Feld, rising to take leave. “Let me hope that my obduracy will not weaken your regard for one so proud of being your uncle.”
“No, uncle,” said she, “and chiefly since I do not believe in the obduracy, and have full faith in the affection.”
With every testimony of regard, they now took leave of each other, and the General retired as Kate betook herself to her own room.
She had scarcely left the apartment when the Archduke entered it. Madame de Heidendorf had told him that the Princess was there with her uncle, and he came expressly to see her. “Gone again!” exclaimed he; “am I never to see this mysterious beauty?” while he threw his eyes around the room. “What's this addressed to myself here?” added he, as he caught sight of the paper which the Feld had half written. “To his Imperial Highness the Archduke Franz Albrecht, commanding the Eleventh Regiment of Infantry.” Rapidly glancing over the few lines, he at once caught their meaning, and detected the playful spirit in which they were conceived. “The fair Princess must not be disappointed in her opinion,” said he, laughingly, as he took up the pen and wrote: “Too happy to anticipate the unexpressed wish, the Archduke appoints Cadet von Dalton to a lieutenancy in the Hussars of the Wurtemberg Regiment,” and signing his well-known initials at the foot, he sealed and addressed the paper to the Princesse de Midchekoff. This done, he left the house, passing as he went a young cadet, whose military salute he scarcely noticed, nor knew the anxious heart for whose happiness he had just provided.
Young Frank stood respectfully at the salute as the Prince passed, and then bounded away to rejoin his sister. The drawing-room, however, was empty, and it was by mere chance that he saw the letter, on which the address was scarcely dry. Taking this with him, he hastened to her room. “A letter for you, Kate,” cried he, “and with a royal seal too!”
“Poor Frank!” said she, coming out to meet him. “That I should have such tidings for you! The Feld is obdurate and unyielding. He fancies that there is no road to honor save the old track he has trod himself.”
“I knew as much, Kate. Had I stayed longer in the room, I could not have refrained from bursting out to say, 'Hold, sister dearest; not the best grade in all the service is worth so much solicitation. I 'll carry the musket while I must, and the day they make me an officer I 'll smash the sword across my knee and leave them!'”
Kate broke the seal of the packet without answering this passionate speech, and then, with a cry of joy, exclaimed, “Here it is, Frank! The Prince himself has given you the rank, and in the hussars too!”
“Let me see it,” cried the boy,—“let me see it.” And tearing the paper from her hand, he read it again and again. “I scarce know—I can scarce believe this real; but a Prince's word—a royal promise, Kate, is surely sacred.”
“Of that there can be no doubt, Frank.”
“And I am a hussar and an officer,” said he, with a burst of delight “I'd not change with the kaiser this minute, Kate.”
“My dear, dear Frank!” said she, passing her arm around his neck.
“And to owe it all to you, my sweet Kate! If anything could enhance the pleasure of this piece of fortune, it is this fact. And such a regiment, Kate,—the Prince Paul's. The turappé all one mass of gold, and the chako splendid, and their horses the true Hungarian breed,—the native horse crossed with the Arab! I feel already as if I were in the saddle, and careering wildly about. Oh, Kate, what glorious news!”
Again and again he embraced her in his ecstasy, and she, hiding her head upon his shoulder, tried to suppress the burst of emotions which filled her heart, for she thought at what a price she purchased the power she wielded.
They sat long with hands close locked beside each other,—neither speaking,——each travelling his own road of thought; and how wide apart they lay!
We cannot afford to linger in Vienna, nor speak of the week—the most brilliant of all her life—Kate passed there. It was the first burst of that ambition which had so long taken possession of her, and she saw herself, at length, in all the pride of her station, and her beauty the object of a hundred flatteries.
Fêted at the Court, distinguished by the special attentions of the Princes, most courteously received in all the society of the most exclusive capital of Europe, the whirl of pleasure and excitement as effectually precluded thought as it defied reflection. Hitherto she had seen the world only as a dependant, or at least as something appertaining to Lady Hester, in whose caprices she was bound to share, making partnery, as it were, in all her likings and dislikings; but now she was become the centre around which all these attentions revolved, and her own will was the directing impulse of every action.
Of all the cities of the Continent, Vienna was most remarkable for almost instinctively adopting the tone of its Court in respect to a distinguished visitor. There was something like intuition in the way in which they guessed the feeling of royalty, and as quickly made it their own.
The restricted limits of the first society, of course, made this practicable, as well as the fact that all belonging to it were more or less engaged in the service of the Emperor. Kate Dalton was now to enjoy this flattery, and find herself, wherever she went, the special object of attention.
At the Hof Theatre, where they played her favorite operas; at the great reviews in the Prater, at the balls of the palace, or the déjeûners of Schonbrunn, she seemed the occasion of the fête, and to do her honor all appeared assembled. Carried away by the triumphant delight of pleasure so associated with power, she either forgot at times the price at which her greatness had been purchased, or was disposed to still the beatings of her heart by the thought, “My destiny is chosen; it is too late to look back.” To have grieved over her lot, besides, would have seemed an utter selfishness, seeing that she was the means of dispensing such happiness to all her family. Her poor father placed once more in comfort; Nelly free to follow the dictates of her charming fancy, without the alloying sense of toil; and dear Frank, in all the exuberant joy of his promotion, eternally reminding her that she was his patroness. The quick clatter of his charger's hoofs in the courtyard, the clank of his sabre as he ran up the stairs, were but the glad prelude to his daily outpouring of gratitude. Ay, “to be sorry now, would be but selfish.”
Such was the philosophy in which she wrapped herself; and day after day the feeling gained strength within her. It was true there were moments when all the sophistry gave way, and her affections flowed full and strong in the deep channels of her heart. Then, indeed, she saw the emptiness of all this gorgeous parade,—how little it gave of real happiness,—how seldom it ever called forth one generous feeling, or one high desire, and she wished the fates had dealt otherwise with her. At times she almost longed for the humble home, in all its poverty, with nothing but Nelly's bright smile and gentle voice to cheer its solitude! It may have been this conflict——for conflict it was—that gave to her demeanor a certain calm dignity, which, in the critical estimation of society, elevated her high above any charge of frivolity or capriciousness. She was a thought graver, perhaps, than her years; but the feeling imparted an indescribable grace to one whose beauty was the very type of brilliancy. After all, these were but passing clouds; nor did she ever suffer herself to recur to the past, save when wayward memories would obtrude uncalled for.
At last a letter came from Lady Hester; and although not a long one, it called up thoughts that all her endeavors could not efface from recollection. There were, once again, all the old familiar names with which she used to be so conversant.
Lady Hester, however, was much changed: all the capricious irritability of the fine lady had given place to a kind of importunate piety. She had grown “devote,” and her life a string of religious observances. After dwelling complacently on the self-imposed round of her mortifications and penances, she went on:——
Never did a frivolous letter give more serious thought, nor bring gloomier reflections, than did this epistle to Kate Dalton. Her mind dwelt far less on the paragraph which concerned her own future than on that which spoke of George,—his devoted affection and his enduring sorrow! And so it was true that he loved her! He had even confided the avowal to another, and asked for aid and counsel. Why had he then concealed it from herself? Was the fault hers? Had her own conduct been the reason? Had her encouragement of any other estranged him, or was the teaching of the society in which she moved the reason? Poor fellow! how unfairly had she treated him,——even to that very last incident of their last meeting!—and now they were to meet no more! No, death itself could not more effectually separate them than did space and destiny. Even this she felt to be better, far better, than the chances of renewed intimacy in the world. Lady Hester had not told her why she had never divulged her secret; still less to what end she revealed it now, when the knowledge must be only misery. The mention of Norwood, and the vague half-threat connected with his name, gave her but little uneasiness, since her mind had but space for one absorbing thought,—George loved her! There was the sum of every reflection; and all the world around her, in its splendor or its brilliancy, the tortuous paths of political intrigue, the quiet byways of home-affection, the present and the future, were all as nothing when weighed against this one thought.
If her first impression had been to blame Lady Hester for revealing the secret, her second was to thank her with her whole heart. She remembered D'Esmonde, too, and the reasonings by which he accompanied the delivery of the letter; and she felt that this consciousness was a blessing of which no vicissitude could rob her,—that come what might of disappointment or sorrow in life, here, at least, in her heart of hearts, was one hoarded treasure to compensate for all. If there were but one to whom she could confide her secret, with whom she could talk over her sorrow, she thought that she would be contented. To Nelly she dared not; to Frank she could not speak of it; what, then, of Nina? Alas! it was no longer a secret to her! Nina had seen the picture, and although nothing in her manner betrayed the slightest consciousness, Kate knew her too well not to feel herself in her power.
Nina's demeanor, however, exhibited nothing of insolent triumph; on the contrary, her manner was gentle, even to submissiveness, and something almost affectionate seemed to mingle with the feeling in which she fulfilled her duties. Kate remarked this, and only needed the courage to take advantage of it At first the very idea of Nina's consciousness was torture; but day by day this terror grew weaker, till at last she actually wished that the moment of explanation was over, and that she could pour out all her griefs before her. “She may have loved unhappily, herself; and if so, will pity me. In any case, a frank avowal on my part will show that I knew nothing of his heart, and but little of my own, till 'too late.' We are never to meet again,” and so-and-so; in fact, with many a casuistry, she satisfied herself that mere memory could never be a sin,—that there could be nothing very wrong in looking back as often as the future seemed lowering and gloomy. It is hard to say if there might not have been some leaven of “pique” in these reasonings. The Prince, according to Lady Hester, if he had not entirely forgotten, was already indifferent about her. Some uncertainty of ceremonial prevented his writing or hearing from her; and at this very moment he was following out the ordinary life of dissipation which he led before. Why care for him,——why even endeavor to nourish an affection that must be blighted in the end? Besides, her marriage was never one of inclination; Lady Hester had been most frank in explaining the Prince's appreciation of it As to her own reasons for the step, she knew them too well.
All that Kate had seen of life in her Florence experiences told her that such cases were the ordinary events of the world. Few were happily married,—disparity of age, inequality of condition, incompatible tempers, and a hundred other causes were ever at work. Lady Hester used to tell her that nobody was ever satisfied with their “married lot: the good and right-minded only pined under it; the less scrupulous proclaimed their dissatisfaction to the world, and asked for sympathy.” These were the two categories that comprehended all her theory. Now Kate was quite resolved to be one of the former class; but she saw no reason why she ought not to have one “confidante” of her cares.
With all the force of these persuasions she could not get over the awkwardness of the confession, and would have given worlds that Nina herself would take the first step. That simple-minded creature, however, appeared dead to every hint or suggestion,—she could never see the drift of any remark, save in its most obvious sense, and actually pushed Kate's temper to the last entrenchment of patience by pure stupidity. “Is it possible—can it be that I am deceived—that she has not recognized the miniature?” thought Kate. “Is my secret still in my own keeping?”
As this thought struck her, everything appeared to confirm it,—the girl's manner, devoid of every trait of imperiousness, and actually humble to servility. “Oh, if I could but be sure of this,—if I could know that I could bury both my shame and my sorrow together!” In this vacillating state of suspense—one day all hope and confidence, the next, terror and dread—she lived on, till the period drew nigh for their departure from Vienna.
Madame de Heidendorf had delayed beyond her intention, in the hope of receiving some French news; and Kate eagerly watched the post for some tidings from home,—for home it still was, in every feeling of her heart
“No letters again, Nina?” said she, despondingly, as the maid entered the room.
“None, Madame.”
“Have your friends forgotten you, Nina, as well as mine appear to have done?”
“Nina has but few friends, Madame; and still fewer would think of writing to her!”
“Poor Nina!” said Kate, affectionately; and the blood rushed to the girl's face at the words, and her eyes flashed with an expression of sudden passion.
“No pity, Madame,——no pity!” cried she, with a voice full of emotion, “or I may forget myself,—forget myself and you also!” And with these words she hurried from the room, without waiting for more. Kate sat shocked and abashed by the girl's violence, and yet neither daring to reprove her nor even remonstrate with her. What abject slavery was this to feel! How mean did she seem to her own heart! What rottenness was within that gilded splendor by which she was surrounded! Where was the ambitious envy with which she once looked up to the rich and powerful now? Where that intense desire to be among the great and the titled? and with whom would she not have changed conditions, even to Nina herself?
It is not weak of heart and low of courage that one should face the great journey of life. Its trials and crosses, even to the most fortunate, demand all that we can summon of hope and of energy. And yet so was it that she was about to begin the road—the long and dreary road—before her! As she sat thus musing, a great noise was heard from the street without. She arose and opened the window. The whole Platz was crammed with people, eagerly talking and gesticulating. A surging, waving motion, too, seemed to sway them, and at length she could detect that they were slowly proceeding onward towards the gate of the city. The deep roll of a drum then turned her attention, and, in the far distance, she saw the glancing bayonets of an infantry column as they advanced.
Military spectacles are of too frequent recurrence in Vienna to create much surprise or excitement; and yet, evidently, from the looks and gestures of the people, they were both present here. The band of a regiment struck up the national hymn of Austria; and as the proud notes swelled into the air, a dark body of Tyrolese Jâgers poured into the Platz. Still there was no enthusiasm of the people. They listened to the loyal sounds in cold apathy. To the Tyrolese succeeded a Grenadier battalion, after which came a long dense column of infantry of the line, their knapsacks on their backs, and their bread rations strapped above them. Behind these was the artillery, the long-tailed black horses giving a solemn look to the procession, as its clanking sounds fell mournfully on the ear. From the wide Platz they now moved on, and passing out of the Körtner gate, defiled into the “Glacis.” But a moment before and that immense space was empty; and now, from every avenue of the city, troops came pouring in like rivers to the sea. The black-plumed hunters from Tyrol, the gigantic Croat Grenadiers, the swarthy Bohemian Cuirassiers, and the white-cloaked dragoons of Austria,—all were seen advancing and forming as if in battle array. While Kate's eye ranged eagerly over the field in search of the blue uniform of the Hungarians, Madame de Heidendorf entered the room with an open letter in her hand.
“What can this mean?” asked Kate, anxiously. “It is surely not a mere review?”
“Far from it, Madame,” said the Countess, imposingly. “The great drama is about to begin. News has come that Italy is in open revolt, and fresh troops are to be despatched thither with all speed. Twelve thousand are to march today, eight more to-morrow.”
“And Frank—”
She stopped, abashed by the disdainful expression of Madame de Heidendorf s face.
“Your brother's regiment, Madame, will form part of the force, and he will, of course, contribute the importance of his presence. How happily constituted must be the mind that can turn from the grand theme of a whole nation's destiny to the petty fortunes of a corporal or a sous-lieutenant!”
“And yet so it is,” replied Kate, boldly; “dear Frank is nearer to my heart than all that I see yonder. Oh, yes, Madame,” cried she, replying to the glance of scorn the Countess bestowed, “it is quite true. Mine is an ignoble spirit. My affections are linked with lowly objects; would that my ambitions had never risen above them!”
What reply Madame de Heidendorf might have given to this speech, so much more daring than she had uttered before, there is no knowing, when Frank burst into the room, and clasped his sister in his arms.
“I have but a moment, Kate, and we are off—off to Italy;” and then, seeing the Countess, the boy bowed courteously, and apologized for his abrupt entrance. “Count Stephen has got the command, and placed me on his staff.”
“I hope you may merit this proof of his confidence, sir,” said Madame de Heidendorf, haughtily.
“Frank will be a brave soldier, Madame,” broke in Kate. “He is a Dalton.”
“He must be true as well as brave. Fidelity is needed now as much as valor.”
“And who will dare to question mine?” cried Frank; and then, as if impatient that he should have been led away from a dearer theme, he placed his arm within Kate's, and drew her towards the window. “I had so much to say to you, my dearest sister. I have been thinking of nothing but you—and—and—what you told me. I would break off this match——it is not too late—you are only betrothed.”
“Oh, no, no, Frank; do not give me such counsels. I am pledged in word and bound in honor. I have taken a solemn vow.”
“But you have been deceived,—I know you have; enough that I see such a woman as that your companion. I tell you again, you must break it off.”
“I cannot,—I cannot!”
“Then, by Heaven! I will do it myself. It surely is not for all the glitter of this state and pomp that you would sell your affections? These gauds have not corrupted you already? No, no, I read you better than that Listen to my plan, then,—do not leave this till you hear from me. If this lady—I do not know her name—insists on your departure, be as peremptory, and say that you wish to see your family first. You are not a slave, and cannot be coerced.”
“I will hear no more of this, Frank; the very thought is maddening. No, no, Frank; if you would be my friend, teach me how to fulfil my duty, my sworn, pledged allegiance; do not seek to shake my faith, nor make me less resolute in honor.”
“It is, then, as I feared,” cried he, passionately; “these cursed bribes have bought you. Oh, it is not thus Nelly would have been won!”
“I know it,—I know it well!” cried she, bursting into tears; “but I never was like her.”
“But you were, and you are, dearest,” said he, kissing her forehead, “our own sweet Kate, that we were all so proud of. Oh, forgive me if I said what could hurt you, for I would pour out my heart's blood to serve or to save you.”
There was a mournful emphasis on the last two words, which bespoke their deep meaning; and now, locked in each other's arms, they wept bitterly.
“As the Field-Marshal von Auersberg has just ridden into the palace, his aide-de-camp ought probably to dry his tears and receive him,” said Madame de Heidendorf, as she sailed proudly out of the room.
“You heard that, Kate?——you heard what she said to me? Think, then, what kindness and sympathy she will feel for you!” said the boy, as he dashed his hand indignantly against his forehead. “Was I not right about these Russians?”
“Come, Frank, let us go to Uncle Stephen,” said Kate, trying to smile and seem at ease; and hand-in-hand they descended the stairs together.
The drawing-room into which they now entered was filled with officers of different arms of the service, among whom Count Dalton stood conspicuous, both from his size and the soldierlike character of a figure that not even old age seemed able to impair.
“How provoking, my sweet niece,” said he, taking Kate's hand between both his, “now to part, just as I was learning the happiness of knowing you. Here are all these gentlemen grumbling and complaining about leaving their homes and families, and yet I 'll wager there is not one amongst them carries away a heavier heart than I do. Come into this room, my dear; let us have five minutes together.” And Kate took his arm, while he led her forward. Madame de Heidendorf, meanwhile, seated herself on a sofa, and summoned the most distinguished officers of the party to inform her as to all that was going forward.
It was one of her favorite affectations to be deeply versed in military tactics; not that she acknowledged herself deficient in any art or science, but soldiering was her strong point. She therefore questioned and cross-questioned these unhappy gentlemen at great length.
“You have no mortars? Do I hear you aright. Colonel Rabowsky? No mortars?”
“None, Madame.”
“And how, may I ask, do you mean to reduce Milan to ashes?”
This was a very puzzling question; and she repeated it in a still more commanding tone.
“Perhaps that may not be deemed desirable, Madame,” modestly insinuated another officer.
“Not desirable, sir? you said not desirable. Why, really I shall begin to fancy I ought to go to school again in military matters. Are you aware, sir, it's the very centre of these wretches; that it is fed from Switzerland and Piedmont with all that is infamous in political doctrine? Milan must be bombarded, sir!”