Odds against her

Chapter I

E gon von ARNIM stood on a corner of the Place de la Madelaine one bright afternoon in June, pondering over a telegram which he had just received from England.

He was not in the best of moods.

Surely it was inconsiderate of his brother to betake himself to America when he had such need of his counsel.

Confession is said to be good for the soul, but it was only after much struggle that he had made up his mind to confide in this possibly not over-sympathetic brother. Therefore it was trying to be denied the opportunity by an adverse fate, for Egon’s ideas never flowed freely with the pen. When reduced to writing his peccadilloes appeared more aggressive and less worthy of forgiveness.

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He bit his fair mustache and looked up the street reflectively. There was nothing of especial interest in his surroundings.

Close at hand a building was in process of erection. A mason poised a hod of mortar on his shoulder and began to ascend an unsteady ladder. Egon lazily watched his movements, thinking at the same time whether he had better take the night train to Berlin, in which case he would reach his garrison next day. While he deliberated a coiip^ approached and drew up near-by, the horses standing like statues. Egon studied the chiffre on the panel, and wondered idly if it was a private carriage or a voiture de remise.

Suddenly his eyes lost their absent look.

What had attracted his attention ?

On the carriage window rested a woman’s hand, with delicately rounded finger-tips, and from a curious ring, formed of a snake with an emerald head and diamond eyes, flashed quivering rays of light.

There was a grace in the tapering wrist, suggestive of a long, lithe body. Those nervous fingers looked as though they might hold one

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in the strong clasp of friendship or thrill one’s blood with a subtle, caressing pressure. They had a magnetic attraction for Egon stronger than his will.

The woman must be beautiful. Why necessarily beautiful ? She might be hideous, and the charm would be broken.

He laughed at his absurd fancy, and lifted his eyes to the mason, who was now like a fly on the wall above his head.

“Ell see her,” he thought suddenly, “and dispel the illusion.”

While he advanced towards the carriage two things happened. The coachman touched his horses, and drove away, and on the spot where Egon had lately stood lay the mason crushed out of all semblance to humanity.

The unknown hand had saved his life. He repressed an exclamation of horror, and glanced backward, but the crowd shut out his view — then hailing an empty fiacre that was passing, he called to the cabman :

“ Follow that carriage, and a louis d*or if you overtake it,”

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The man set his hat straight on his head and stared at his crazy fare.

“ B'en, msieur” he responded, and chuckled to himself at the folly of being in love; for, with his worn-out nag, he might as well attempt to overtake the winged steed Pegasus as those fleet horses.

Chapter II

E gon returned to his hotel annoyed at himself and his senseless impulse. The strange carriage had been lost in the crowd after a short chase, and he experienced the sensation of being deservedly beaten.

When he took up a book and tried to read, a delicate hand floated before his eyes. He turned impatiently towards the fireplace and saw on the mantelpiece a thick letter with the Saxon postmark. It was from his sister-in-law, Hulda von Arnim.

He forgot his recent experience in the thought of his bright, volatile Hulda, who laughed at him, and understood him at the same time, who might perchance love him some day if he had the good luck to win her. His face lighted with pleasure as he broke the seal.

SCHLOSS Felsenstein, June — , i8— . Dear Runaway : You certainly do not deserve a line from me after leaving without ^

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word of farewell ; but circumstances arise sometimes when it is best to take to one’s heels. Foolish boy, so you thought I did not understand that you had gone to England to consult Franz. He isn’t there, and when you learn what he has been doing you will think, as I do, that he had much better have staid at home. I cannot understand risking the sea journey except in quest of money. Franz is rich enough, although he did make his fortune in trade and disgrace the family, according to Uncle Heinrich. What does it matter as long as he has the money ? If you were rich we might marry, and I could torment you at my leisure. Why didn’t fate put you into trade instead of a cavalry regiment at G. ? Things' might have been different then. I see your eyes flash, my dear boy. You are quite ready to sacrifice yourself because you think you love me. Nonsense. You would have to serve an apprenticeship of twice seven years. Waiting is dreary, and the fancy will pass. After all, Egon, I am not sure that I don’t love you. Sometimes I think I could die for you. Strange conceit ! Then I think of the details of life, — those prosaic details that kill love. Ah, could we live in a bower of roses on butterflies’ wings, how charming life would be — but I want the pomps and vanities. I want them even 'more than I want you. Don’t waste further thought on me. Forget me if you can. My better nature speaks now. So come back determined to accept the situation.

I wish you could look in on us now. Anna is nursing her rheumatism. She has a new pain

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with a long name. Paul is as prosy and severe as ever. We are in a state of excitement over Franz’s probable return. Figiirez vous. He has discovered an unknown cousin in America. He does not descend to detail, but implores our consideration for her. Her name is Prasseda, and she is said to be Ulrich’s daughter; said to be, I say, because the burden of proof is upon your chivalrous brother. He found this little savage sitting on a rock in some American mountains shooting at an eagle, and dressed in men’s clothes. That is what Anna says, and since Franz wrote her I presume she read his letter aright. He writes legibly, which is more than I can say for you. They are expected daily. Therefore come home at once.

Hulda.

P. S. Don’t take what I said seriously. I dare say I shall have forgotten it when I see you again.

P. S. If you come at once you will find no one here. Next week the house will be full.

To Lieut. Count Egon VON Arnim.

Egon laid down the letter with a sigh. What alluring hopes she held out to him. And yet they could never be realized. Paul used to say in his cynical way, that she had married not his brother Friedrich, but his prospects. Those having died with him, she would never think seriously of. a young lieutenant of dragoons

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were he a demigod, much less a good-looking young scamp with nothing but debts to fortune. But why tempt him? Why thrill his heart by impossible suggestions? After all, were they impossible? Might he not with Franz’s help go to America and make his fortune, but would she wait ? Would she not laugh at him in the end for his pains, when, after years of exile, he should return to find her married perhaps to another?

He took up the letter and read it again from beginning to end, and resolved that he would go home and ask her to be serious, to decide his fate once for all. Then he would confess his sins freely to Franz, and give up his follies. His brother would initiate him into the mysteries of trade and make him rich for Hulda’s sake. She should have the pomps and vanities she craved so much, and he should give them to her.

It was already growing dark when he rang for a guide to look up the earliest train for Berlin. If he left at once he might settle everything before Franz returned.

At the appointed hour he was ready and

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eager to start on the journey which might prove the turning-point of his life. Passing down the staircase he met a young Englishman whom he had known slightly in Russia some years before. They were to be travelling companions that night, therefore the journey would not be dull. There were still a few moments to spare, and he went out on the balcony to light a cigar. Before him was gay, laughing Paris ! Perhaps he was foolish to leave it so soon. Lights glittered in the square below. Branches of trees waved in the June breeze, and cast interlacing shadows on the asphalt pavement. Strains of music came to him from a neighboring cafe. The air was filled with the odor of roses, which stole into his brain. Stars sparkled in the clear sky. Surely this was a night for revelry and mirth.

The next balcony was shut off by a latticework, overgrown with vines, and on the railing was lying the bunch of roses that laded the air with perfume. In the street beneath a woman’s voice was humming an air from a popular opera. Suddenly there was a rustling behind the partition, and a hand crept out to-

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wards the flowers. Egon gazed as if spellbound. He had recognized the hand, and the peculiar ring which stamped its identity. It hovered over the roses and touched their petals caressingly. Those soft fingers seemed so near his own. He had but to bend forward and take them in his grasp. Behind the network, he seemed to see the shadowy figure of a woman shrouded in a white veil. He felt impelled to spring forward and tear it from her face, but he drew back. Why should he attempt to solve this mystery ? Were not his heart and interest Huldr/s? It was already late, and his English friend was waiting. Why did he tarry ?

Now all was still on the balcony. The lights were out. Had she gone ? While he hesitated a clock struck the hour. He had loitered too long, and the train had departed without him. Then reaction set in. He would resist this absurd impulse to meet an unknown woman. Perhaps, through his trifling, Hulda had been lost to him forever. All night long he tossed and turned. The figure of a woman flitted by, enveloped in a filmy veil,

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II which entangled him in its folds and stifled him.

When he awoke the sun was streaming in at his window. Frangois brought the morning papers with his coffee, and lingered.

“ Has monsieur seen he ventured at last.

*‘Seen what, imbecile?'' returned Egon, a sleepless night not having improved his temper.

“ An accident to the Berlin express,’' stammered the man. And Monsieur Gordon is — ”

“Well?”

“ Seriously wounded,” cried Francois. “ Ah I think if Monsieur had gone.”

Egon lost his ruddy color for the moment. He scanned the paper hurriedly. It was true. There had been a collision. Many lives were lost, and heading the list of wounded was the name of Alex Gordon, whose hand he had pressed but a few hours before.

Surely man’s life hangs by a thread.

“The Sainte Vierge kept you back,” murmured Frangois, devoutly crossing himself.

Egon started. Once more had the mysterious hand been stretched forth to save him from danger.

CHAPTER III. HE head of the Arnim family was an old

X man, living estranged and alone on his estates bordering the Baltic, whose life had been embittered by the death of his two children.

He had quarreled with his son over some trifling matter, and Ulrich, then a high-spirited boy of twenty, had left his home, declaring in bitterness of spirit that his father should live to regret his injustice. Hot words were these, uttered in passion, but soon to be verified, for not long after the news came to Carlshohe that he had been killed in the American civil war.

The blow nearly crushed Count Arnim. Prasseda, his daughter, did her utmost to console him. Ulrich had been saved so much pain and trouble in this world, which to her young mind seemed so cheerless. Life at Carlshohe in the companionship of a tyrannical

n

father had not been all sunshine, and her brother’s death in a land of exile made it utterly desolate. The poor child lost heart, and soon followed him to the land of shadows.

After her death the Count sent for Friedrich, the elder of his late brother’s two sons, and made a will in his favor, declaring him heir to his property, both landed and personal, without restriction, his brother to inherit in case Friedrich died without issue.

Franz had broken loose from his associations when a youth and gone into business in England, where at the age of forty he had amassed a fortune. His uncle, while apparently discountenancing him, secretly admired his independence. Success in any form won his applause.

Franz was a silent, almost morose man. His early struggles had left their mark on a character originally open and impulsive. His passionate nature was hidden under a cloak of sullen indifference. Suspicious of strangers, he was blindly loyal to friends, but if his jealousy were aroused he became a madman, doubting even the evidence of his own eyes.

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Once he had placed his trust, he was dogged in its defense. Yet in a woman’s hands he was a child.

Egon was the son of a distant cousin on the Arnim side. He had been adopted by Franz’s mother when a baby. Franz considered him his [special charge, and no one disputed his guardianship, for the boy was headstrong and wild.

After their parents’ death, when Friedrich went to Russia as attache and the younger tried his fortune in England, the little adopted brother was left at Felsenstein, but Franz always cared for him ; he paid his college bills and later got him a commission in a cavalry regiment at Dresden. He found an outlet for his strong nature in love for this fatherless boy, and forgave him many a prank that merited severe punishment, finding a ready excuse for his follies. Egon appreciated his generosity, as most boys do who have never had a wish ungratified. He was a young lord among his mates. This rich brother was a liberal protector. Egon had but to ask and everything was given him.

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IS

All went well until Hulda Golof came into their lives. She was the daughter of a poor Russian noble at St. Petersburg. Friedrich met her at Court, and introduced his brother, who was visiting him at the embassy. She called P'ranz^the bear,” and laughed at his awkwardness. It galled his pride. He had no ready speeches for her like his brother Friedrich. He was in trade, a stigma which his name and race could not outbalance. He was not rich in those days, and no one was surprised to hear that Hulda, whose only fortune was her pretty face, had chosen the heir to Carlshohe.

Paul von Kempen declared her interest in her husband to be purely mercenary, .nor could her pretty blandishments alter this opinion. She found his heart steeled against her, and hated him cordially in return. Paul’s sister Anna, an old maid of fifty, chided him for his severity. The bride was so graceful and distingti^e. Surely she loved Friedrich devotedly. It was such a touching picture to see them together. What mattered her lack of fortune, since she was noble ? That was somei6

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thing. It was far better than marrying beneath him, as some people had been tempted to do.

The master of Felsenstein was silent, for if rumor spoke truly he himself had been charmed by the bright eyes of a forester's daughter in his youth.

There was one other member of the family who did not yield to Hulda’s fascination, and that was the Count von Arnim. He seemed to share Paul’s prejudice.

The young couple went to Carlshohe soon after their marriage. During this visit there ensued a quarrel between uncle and nephew, the details of which were never known. It was whispered that the heir left his ancestral halls hurriedly in a state of rage against his choleric uncle. And the incident made little impression at the time, because every one knew that the Count was an intolerant man, with whom it was difficult to live at peace. Hulda shrugged her pretty shoulders when questioned, and remarked indifferently that it was Friedrich’s affair, not hers ; really she could not be held responsible for family jars. Later Paul thought her words significant.

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When Friedrich brought his wife home Egon was a chivalrous boy, with a susceptible heart, which his volatile sister-in-law soon swayed. She was a year his senior ; but this trifling difference gave her an advantage. It enabled her to treat him with a familiarity most dangerous to his peace of mind.

One day he realized with a shock that he loved her. Paul had seen and warned him of his folly. He exchanged into a regiment on the frontier, and tried to forget. Hulda understood the situation, and ascribed his exile to her enemy’s influence. She missed him in her rides and walks. His merry voice had made Felsenstein less dull. She wrote him sisterly notes, which did not serve to banish memory.

About this time Friedrich died, and left Hulda a charming, penniless widow. His death had not entered into her calculations, since it left her entirely dependent upon the Count, who settled an annuity on her, conditional upon her never setting foot in Carlshohe.

The malice was apparent, but she swallowed the insult and accepted the money, for there

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i8

was no option ; however, it was galling to her pride. She had set her heart upon being mistress of this insolent old man’s Schloss in spite of his restrictions. Her husband had borne affront on her account in silence. Had he shown resentment his prospects might be ruined. He reproached her with not conciliating the Count, but she laughed and bade him bide his time. How could he expect her to cajole a barbarian ?

She lived at Felsenstein by invitation of Baron Kempen, part of each year. During his last hours her husband had wrung this promise from him. Friedrich’s mother had been a Kempen, and the request seemed not unnatural ; but her presence was only'tolerated, and Paul’s relations with Franz were strained in consequence.

Hulda brooded over the condition set upon her allowance more and more. Paul’s taciturn manner angered her ; but there was a way to outwit them all. She might yet reign at Carlshohe, if she married the next heir. He was enormously rich now, and less of a bear. Although he had not spoken, she

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knew by many tokens that she had but to stretch out her hand and he would be at her feet. Why did she hesitate? Why did she find grave reasons for postponing the inevitable, for it was her decided purpose to marry him at some future time ?

Egon’s regiment had been ordered back to Grimma, a garrison town not far from Felsenstein, and she was thrown into constant companionship with him again. She laughed at his boyish protestations, and treated them lightly, but could not make up her mind to throw him over. He was so simple-hearted and true, handsome and straight as a Viking. He loved her with a loyalty which touched her heart, although she rallied him on his earnestness. England seemed far away in those days, for she held Egon in a net as fine as her silken hair.

This was the reason why she half-encouraged Franz, and hesitated to commit herself. However, it could not last forever. The day was coming when she must decide ; the boy was beginning to have too great a hold upon her heart. She had never

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told him in so many words that she loved him, except in the letter sent to Paris, although from her looks and gestures he must have read the truth a hundred times. He had returned to Grimma the preceding night, and wrote her that he would come to Felsenstein early in the morning. Franz, too, was expected. She must settle her affair with him, and trifle with Egon no more.

Hulda lay in a hammock down by the lake at Felsenstein thinking of Egon. As she swayed to and fro, fanned by the June breeze, she could see from under her half-closed lids the swans floating on the water near the shady island. She had spent many an hour there dreaming with him, and the boat was still moored under the bank. Why did he not come?

The woods were full of summer sounds ; birds twittered in the branches ; the odor of new-mown hay was wafted from a field near-by. Hark! there was the rumble of distant wheels upon the highway.

Egon is coming, ” she thought dreamily. “ He will seek me here.”

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She closed her eyes and pretended to sleep. He would be sure to look for her in her favorite nook by the lake.

There was an interval of silence, and then the branches parted.

Some one was there.

All was still again. Did he really think her asleep? She looked from under her lashes at the intruder.

It was not Egon who had disturbed her, but a young girl tall and graceful as Diana. She was gazing at Hulda through the leaves, her lips parted in a smile of childlike wonder. The sun flickered through the rustling foliage and touched her hair with gold, while she stood motionless, fearing to wake the sleeper.

Instinct told Hulda that this vision was Prasseda. A sudden chill passed over her, but she gave no sign, and the branches fell together noiselessly.

Danger was near.

This girl with the fierce Arnim blood would make a formidable adversary. Could they prove her the legal heir ? Hulda’s eyes lighted with malice. Never while she held the key.

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Confused sounds reached her from the house. Some one was calling.

Hulda, Hulda ! ”

The forest rang with her name. They must not find her there. First she must think.

For an hour she wandered through the park struggling with herself. She could not bear to face the inevitable. It meant parting with Egon. She must put a barrier between them that could not be swept away. Her love for him was her weakness. He must come soon, for it was nearly noon, and he had promised to be with her early. At a stile half-way between the wood and the high-road she waited. Yes, he was coming. He had dismounted and sent his horse on by the servant, taking the shorter path by the lake. How handsome he looked, crossing the field with a swinging step, in his dragoon uniform !

‘‘You came to meet me!" he exclaimed, stooping to kiss her outstretched hand.

“Art sure?"

Even then she could not help coquetting with him.

“Hulda, I am here. You bade me come."

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She drew him down playfully on the wall where she was sitting.

“Are you glad to see me, Hulda?'* he began, his voice trembling slightly. “You meant all you wrote? You love me, Hulda?”

“One writ-es foolish things sometimes, Egon.”

“You don’t know how happy it made me to think that you really cared for me. If you would wait Just a little while I might have a home for you somewhere, perhaps in America.”

“ In America ! ” she repeated, as if dazed by his words.

“Yes, in America. I will go to Franz and ask him to help me.”

When he mentioned his brother’s name a shudder passed over Hulda and she drew her hand away.

“ No, Egon ! ”

“ Why not ? Who could advise me better than Franz ? He made his own fortune, and knew as little about money-making once as Ido!”

Hulda looked away over the fields. The tower of Felsenstein was visible in the dis-

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tance. She seemed to hear Franz’s voice still calling, .“Hulda,Hulda!”

She tried to laugh and turn him from the subject. He was going too far. She had not thought he would take the matter so seriously. “ You must not speak to Franz,” she said resolutely. “I forbid it.”

He was puzzled by her tone, and even then did not understand that she had been trifling with him.

“ Can you mean that you do not love me? ” he questioned.

When she looked up and nodded an afiflrmative he threw himself down beside her and seized her hand almost roughly.

“ It is not true,” he said passionately. ‘‘ Oh, Hulda, don’t be cruel to me.”

Her heart quailed at his change of tone, but she must be firm or lose all.

“ Egon,” she answered, passing her hand gently over his bowed head, “ Do you not know that ambition has ruled my life ? Friedrich was but a stepping-stone to wealth and power. See then how impossible it is for me to marry you.”

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She told him this bluntly. Unless she showed determination he would never believe her; he would go on protesting and pleading. She could not bear the strain. If he understood once for all, how little chance there was he would desist.

All Paul’s warning words came back to his mind. It was true. She had acknowledged it frankly. He drew away from her and stood erect. There was no appeal in his attitude, now.

Why did you write me and raise false hopes, Hulda,” he said reproachfully. ‘‘.Why were you so hard on me.”

“ Because,” she answered, looking into his face, “although I can never marry you, — never — I loved you, Egon. I warned you at the same time, you remember.”

It was quite fair, he would listen to reason.

His lip curled.

“ You loved me,” he repeated in contempt.

His tone stung her to anger. She had been willing to concede something. She had humbled herself in acknowledging her weakness, and he threw back her avowal with scorn.

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“ But never so much that I could not have thrown you over for another,” she said with cutting emphasis.

Her cold answer was fuel to the flame.

‘‘ My brother Franz has fallen into your late husband’s shoes. Why not for him ? ”

“He might do admirably,”

“ Why do you say this to me? Why make me hate all women?”

“ Nonsense ! ”

The light died out of his face, leaving it pale and drawn. She was engrossed in tracing figures in the ground with the point of her parasol and did not see him.

“Very well, Hulda,” he said, after a pause. Good-bye.”

The dull monotone of his voice hurt her.

“ Let us part friends,” she said, holding out her hand. Her short-lived anger had died.

“Friends?” he echoed with scorn. “You and I ? Before the world, yes ; but apart, no. I hope I shall never forget the courtesy due my brother’s widow,” he added, bowing low. “ But I shall never forgive you your cruelty to me.”

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With these words he stalked off in the direction whence he had come, but recently full of joyous anticipation. She looked after him wistfully, and half extended her hand to call him back.

“ When I have done the work so well ! ” she muttered. “ He will get over it.” And she turned toward the house resolutely.

CHAPTER IV. N the road between Leipsic and Dresden, an

hour’s drive from the old town of W- ,

lies Felsenstein, a large estate belonging to the ancient family of Kempen.

The “ Schloss” is a gray stone pile rising from the ground like a castle in a moat. Its walls are bare of ornamentation. There is no portico over the entrance. Two stone steps lead to a massive iron door, over which the arms of Oertzen and Kempen intertwined are carved in stone.

The road approaching Felsenstein is shut in by stone walls, which are broken by a high archway leading into the paved court-yard. Here a stately oak stands and spreads its branches up to the sloping tile roof of the Schloss.

On the east side there is a balcony supported by Doric columns, which are covered by a mass of tangled vines. A beautiful terraced garden

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extends down to the edge of a lake, where swans move listlessly about seeking food among the rushes near the shore.

From the garden, steps lead to the balcony by which one enters the drawing-room on the second floor. In the corner, overlooking the court-yard on one side and the terrace on the other, are Anna von Kempen’s boudoir and sleeping-room. Beyond, in the front of the house, are her brother’s apartments.

Two doors open out of the hall on the ground floor. The left leads to the billiard-room, the right to the sunny dining-room, from whose walls a line of good-natured Kempens look placidly down upon their descendants. They have never been remarkable for anything but their antiquity. Some of their women have been noted beauties, and all of their men stanch supporters of the king. Beyond is a long garden-room with stone flooring and some excellent frescoes. Through the pillars that support the balcony above one can see the stately forest, a background of unbroken foliage, on the farther side of the lake. The forests of Felsenstein have always been