XIII.

"It is the secret sympathy, The silver link, the silken tie, Which heart to heart, and mind to mind, In body and in soul can bind." --SCOTT.

"Sibylla, my child, the air is warm, and I think the east wind has made it more pleasant; will you not go out for a walk?" said Lady Von Herbig to her daughter.

As the latter did not reply, she continued: "I dislike to have you go alone; but you know I can not endure the morning air."

Sibylla glanced somewhat derisively toward the clock, which pointed to 12.15.

Wholly undisturbed, Lady Von Herbig added: "You have not been out to-day; the roses on your cheeks will be faded. Ah! if Madame Dormieux were only here, we might have some French conversation together!"

"I am thankful she isn't," rejoined Sibylla; "this German original sin is as odious as death to me."

The mother dropped her knitting-needles in her lap--a signal for a long dissertation.

Sibylla observed it. Ah! how gladly her mother took up any thing to discuss it at length; and Sibylla was her particular point of attack, perhaps on account of her opposition. Therefore, she sprang up suddenly with, "I will go."

Lady Von Herbig knew she must say very quickly what was in her mind, for her energetic daughter was already at the door; so she reserved the controversy upon her beloved "French" until another time, and only exclaimed: "But dress warmly; your dark-blue wrap will make a lovely effect against the first white snow. And listen: don't go under the Lindens, I beg of you. The young officers----"

"Are seated in the Academy at present, and can not harm me. After a while I shall not be permitted to look out of the windows alone."

"O, these young folks!" sighed Lady Von Herbig, after the departing one; "how very different they were in my time! Now they look boldly into the world; then I looked with downcast eyes; and when my darling Herbig passed by, it was _ma chère bonne_ who always informed me of the fact, but now----!"

Sibylla had hastily donned hat and mantle; but whether it was the "dark-blue" one or not I can not say, as she thought very little about such "effects." The world and her heart seemed so empty to-day that not even her Apollo Belvidere could have made the spot sunny. She hurried by "the Lindens," when suddenly a friendly "Good morning, Fraulein," met her ear, and Herr "Wool-merchant" Bolton stood before her. He was exactly the very person to restore her disturbed equilibrium. She endeavored to walk on quickly, but with rustic _naïveté_ he held her fast, and begged to escort her.

"In the name of every thing, what shall this wool-sack do in the museum?" thought Sibylla.

Still he held his position, and would not leave her side.

"I beg pardon, but I must do some shopping here;" and before the confounded man could recover himself, Sibylla had vanished.

But he could wait, and Sibylla observed with terror how he remained without. "You or I," she said to herself. "I don't get hungry easily." Then she almost distracted the poor salesman. Nothing pleased her; she wavered; she rejected, until her purse was exhausted; then finally left, to the deliverance of the clerk.

Herr Bolton waited for her a long time. It would have delighted him to promenade with such a charming young lady; indeed, it had even occurred to him that she would be quite suitable to have on his arm as a wife, not only on the street but through life. She knew how to entertain so well; and he was often so much in need of amusement.

Sibylla had now reached the museum, and was finally within the sacred precincts of art, from which she hoped for relief and consolation. She had often experienced the power of genius; but she desired not only this. In her strong, energetic nature and best hours she would prove its high moral claims, and bring comfort out of discomfort when the latter was particularly disagreeable to her. Sibylla wished to know the truth of every thing; to be stirred by the beautiful; to make herself so beautiful within that every expression, every action, every motive, should be beautiful; to show forth the sentiment of an artist who once said: "Genius is the necessary result of the production of the beautiful, and precludes the idea of difficult duty." But what a contrast there is when one steps out of the still halls of the museum, and the conventionalities of every-day life grate upon the ear again--people running hither and thither with sugar-loaved hats and cabbage heads! Precisely just such a contrast lies between the quiet, dreamy aspirations of a maiden's heart and the duties which her position enjoin upon her. At times Sibylla's heart was very bitter when she saw the superficiality of the people around her. She could not understand it; and yet she had understanding enough to perceive that many of those who were without artistic culture, and even without good taste, were better than she was, and ah! perhaps happier!

Her thoughts reverted to Theodora, whom she loved, and upon whose deeds she looked reverentially. And yet sometimes she wished she had never known her, as she had stirred within her so much dissension. By her side she made the best resolutions, which, alas! she never carried out. The day before, Theodora had quoted a sentiment from Goethe which she could not get rid of. It was: "How can one learn to know himself? Never by self-examination alone, but by action. Strive to do your duty, and you will soon know what manner of man you are."

Ah! Sibylla did not need to make the trial for the first time. She said honestly: "There is nothing in me but to play on the stage of this life; but yet there must be a time when I shall become different."

She had sauntered a long time among the pictures to-day, and her soul had grown calm. Suddenly she saw Wulf in one of the galleries, hastening toward her with evident pleasure.

Like an old friend, this proud, cold girl greeted him. She could give no reason for her feelings, but she was glad to see him again. And did he not wear a Spring flower in his button-hole? A Berlin gentleman would scarcely wear such a promise of Spring in Winter; and so, if Wulf was no ideal, he now seemed even a little provincial. But Sibylla could endure any thing better than affected, artificial manner.

The first greetings over, they looked at some pictures together. They stood before the portrait of a Spaniard who looked dark and sinister, and who, although he had a demoniacal semblance, one could not escape the expression of his eyes, which seemed to follow everywhere.

"I am afraid of that picture," said Sibylla; "and sometimes it seems to exert an evil influence in my life."

"Fraulein, I tell you never to marry that man," said Wulf, laughing.

Sibylla shuddered.

"How foolish to say that! He lived hundreds of years ago, and frightens me!" and she laughed herself over the idea.

"I know, Fraulein, I know," cried Wulf; "I know whom he resembles! Dr. Uhlhart. Not the mouth, nor the nose, nor the eyes; but the expression is his. Isn't it so?"

Sibylla assented with lightning rapidity.

"Why haven't I had eyes to see that long ago?"

But speak of the wolf and he is not far away. Just at this moment Dr. Uhlhart passed and greeted Sibylla. Both were astounded. He could not have overheard what they had said; but like pictures so are people: there was candor in it.

"Strange!" said Wulf. "I have not seen him for a long time, and yet he passes me by coldly. One never knows how to take people here."

And as if to verify his words, Sibylla suddenly became formal and constrained.

Ah! she had forgotten, during the first moments of seeing him again, the evil reports she had heard concerning Wulf, and she did not feel at liberty to ask him whether they were true or false. But having seen Uhlhart, all these base slanders had been revived, and she bowed coldly. Wulf realized that something had entered between them. Was it the shade of the Spaniard? Dr. Uhlhart gnashed his teeth. He had observed the familiarity between Wulf and Sibylla, and was well aware what her first thoughts would be after his intervention. Had he not related to her the worst stories, and put them in their strongest light? Had he not marked the blush and the expression of contempt which flitted across her proud face? Had she not continually thereafter avoided the mention of Wulf's name? And now he was scarcely returned before she had apparently forgotten every thing.

A year had passed and Dr. Uhlhart had made no advance. Did he love Sibylla? Yes; as deeply as a thoroughly egotistical person could love another. She was the only one that resisted him, and who filled his heart with a wild passion. It had gone with him in his downward course. In the presumption that his inner impulse represented him at his best, he pursued it; but for want of more moral integrity he always went to meet greater neglect. He also felt assured that his life would not run off to sand, but that it would end in a swamp, or, still more probably, in an abyss. But he did not wish to perish alone. Self longed for companionship even in destruction. Sibylla should be beside him; he would possess her, not for the mere sake of ruining her, but to make his own way more agreeable. Besides, he could not bear the thought of seeing her belong to another. That she would be unspeakably miserable with him and indescribably happy with another was clear to him; but what did he care?

Who was the man with whom Sibylla could be happy? Uhlhart's keen discernment had long ago discovered what she herself did not know. It was Wulf Ericksen; and that Wulf loved her, Uhlhart knew, although the young fisherman had never uttered a word. For this reason he had endeavored indirectly to prejudice Sibylla against Wulf; and when the latter left Berlin Uhlhart breathed more freely, for now the field was clear to himself. But why, then, did he not attempt to win Sibylla at once? Simply because the wily doctor feared a refusal. It is true he had "clear sailing" with her mother, who believed Uhlhart to be rich, while in reality he merely had a moderate but sufficient income; and it would have pleased Lady Von Herbig to see them united. But he did not wish to marry the mother--it was the daughter; and because she was the aim and struggle of his life he feared to take the decisive step.

But it must be done. Once he had cherished a hope. He knew he exerted an influence over Sibylla which she could not always resist. She felt that he knew her thoroughly, she who could pride herself as a sealed book to people generally. She feared him; she humiliated herself to him, and on this account he laid the foundations for a victory.

The lights are burning brightly this evening in the Kahring mansion. Let us glance into one of the apartments. First, it is noteworthy how Baron Von Kahring, who sits near his wife, is devoting himself to the cold Northern Light which yonder, in the person of Fraulein Albertina Kouzky, streams forth its pale beams. Her millionaire father is always flattered when the high aristocracy condescends to notice his daughter, and we find Baron Von Kahring wholly transformed. Usually he is taciturn, even sinister; now he evinces so much amiability that, if his wife were not continually transcending him, one would imagine him to be a suitor. He is striving to draw his son into the conversation; but Arnold is absorbed with Sibylla, and does not heed his father's dark glances.

"Fraulein Sibylla, you were at the museum to-day?" says the young baron.

"Yes," replies Sibylla, suddenly turning to look at him.

"And amusing yourself?"

"Amusing?" she repeats somewhat contemptuously. "What an expression! do I go there for amusement?"

"I beg pardon, Fraulein; but do you not find enjoyment in nature?"

"The highest art is indeed nature, and that is achievement," replies Sibylla.

Herr Von Lenkseuring, "the greyhound," enters the room with great springs. He immediately seeks Eugenie Von Kahring, to whom he is playing the _rôle_ of a sighing lover. As her eye-glances are unattainable, the world has nothing further to offer him, but to assume the attitude of a tragic hero just as he drains the poisoned cup, and awaits his end with stoical repose.

Sibylla, being beset by Arnold and Dr. Uhlhart, looks annoyed.

"Please sing something for us; I long to hear your voice," says the charming Lady Von Kahring.

Sibylla would fain decline, which is not usual with her, for her heart is stifled; but her mother presses upon her a troop of assurances which she finds it useless to gainsay, and she walks toward the piano. By so doing she will at least be rid of her besiegers.

"Perhaps Lady Von Kahring has some favorite song?" she asks, listlessly.

"Favorite? O no; and yet, if I may choose, let it be 'The Erl-king.'"

Sibylla shuddered. She sang the part of the child; who would take the other was assured. Seating herself mechanically, she is unable to divine why she is so listless. Is it too warm in the room? Have Dr. Uhlhart's piercing eyes burned her soul? O, if she were only at home! Then follow the first wonderful chords and a gentleman's voice behind her begins:

"Who rides by night this woodland so wild? It is the fond father embracing his child, And close the boy nestles within his loved arm, From the blast of the tempest to keep himself warm.

'My son, upon what dost thou fearfully gaze?'"

And Sibylla responds:

"'O, father, see yonder, see yonder!' he says; 'O, 't is the Erl-king, with his staff and his shroud!'

'No, my love, 't is but a dark wreath of the cloud,'"

Answers the voice.

But now Sibylla shrinks within herself, as Uhlhart continues in siren-like tones:

"'O, wilt thou go with me thou loveliest child? By many gay sports shall thy hours be beguiled; My mother keeps for thee full many a fair toy, And many fine flowers shall she pluck for my boy."

O, how full of tender fear trembles Sibylla's sweet voice!--

"'O, father, my father, and did you not hear, The Erl-king whisper so close in my ear?'

'Be still, my loved child, be at ease, 'T was but the wild blast as it howls through the trees."

Then Uhlhart sings with wonderful beseeching:

"'O, wilt thou go with me, thou loveliest boy? My daughter shall tend thee with care and with joy, She shall bear thee so lightly through wet and through wild, And hug thee and kiss thee and sing to my child.'"

With thrilling pathos Sibylla asks:

"'O father, my father, and saw you not plain, The Erl-king's pale daughter glide past in the rain?'

And the answer comes soothingly:

"'O no, my heart's treasure, I knew it full soon It was the gray willow----'"

Wherewith Uhlhart bends low on the music page, his breath upon Sibylla's neck, while, half-menacingly, he cries:

"'I love thee, I love thee; no longer delay; Or else, foolish child, I shall drag thee away.'"

The instrument wails loudly, and Sibylla shrieks as if in wild despair:

"'My father, my father, now, now keep your hold;'"

And then as if exhausted she adds:

"'The Erl-king has seized me, his grasp is so cold!'"

The entire company had drawn near the singers. All were entranced, fascinated. There was a fearful, dramatic force in the music. Never had "The Erl-king" been sung with so much expression before. The listeners felt as though they must spring to the rescue. Then in the most agonizing dismay is sung:

"Sore trembled the father; he spurred through the wild, Clasping close to his arms his shuddering child; He reaches his dwelling, in doubt end in dread; But, clasped to his bosom the child was dead."

With the words "clasped to his bosom" the music was softened; then followed an unearthly stillness, and with "the child was dead," Sibylla grew so pale she began to fall from the piano-stool. Lady Von Kahring hurried to her side. But Sibylla was no admirer of sentimental scenes; she drew herself up, and with a strong effort said smilingly: "It is nothing; this music always affects me; the accompaniment is also difficult, and it is so warm here."

Seating herself by an open window, she begged to be allowed to rest a moment. Soon the hearers had recovered from the impression produced by the music; and at length Sibylla, too, had overcome her emotions. All partook of refreshments, and she permitted Uhlhart to serve her and to sit beside her. She was alone with him in a window-niche; but she was satisfied to have it so, for she felt that an end would come to the affair this evening, and she desired to see the result as speedily as possible. It was one consolation that so many were near, and she should not be in the doctor's power. Sibylla had guessed rightly. Uhlhart was excited with wine and music, and desired to know his fate:

"_Rouge ou noir?_" he said.

He spoke to her in unmistakable language. Sibylla understood him, and was silent. She had expected it, and had prepared herself to reply to him; but now her tongue was tied, and fear repressed her words. Upon this fear, Dr. Uhlhart had reckoned. He became more passionately moved, and it seemed as if Sibylla had been led to the verge of a precipice where she would cling to something which proved to be grasping the air; now the tempter seized her, and she had no power to resist. Uhlhart regarded this as a favorable sign, and attempted to draw his arm around the frightened girl. This dispelled the illusion. She thrust him indignantly back. He felt he had overreached himself, and at once recovered his poise. Words fell from his lips like siren tones. O Sibylla, steer your bark with a firm hand; the waves are enveloping thee! Sweeter and more ardent became his protestations--now entreating, now expostulating for her consent; but he could gain no reply. She sat as one in rigid spasm; she saw and heard, but could neither speak nor move. Encouraged by her silence, he murmured tenderly:

"I love thee, I love thee; no longer delay, Or else, foolish child, I shall drag thee away!"

The charm was broken.

"Never, never!" exclaimed Sibylla; "die rather!"

"Then die," snarled Uhlhart; "but die with me."

At this moment Arnold Von Kahring stepped before them. He was not aware of what had been taking place; but he saw that Sibylla was about to swoon away, and that the doctor stood ready to care for her. With one glance at Arnold she cried, "Help!" and slipped from her chair.

The ladies present soon surrounded her, with an abundance of tears and sympathy. "Poor child!" "The frightful performance!" "And sitting by this open window!" "Young people are so imprudent!"

Sibylla soon recovered, but she went home. As she lay in bed, the frightful face of Uhlhart bent over her. O, she had, indeed, read his eyes! Love or hate--no medium for him. But, in spite of all weakness, rather a battle between life and death than to become his wife. The feeble girl with the passionate man!

Sibylla folded her hands helplessly. Did she cry out to her sacred Art to sustain his disciple? Begged she the eternal essence of Beauty to uphold her?

Ah no; upon her lips were the words, "O God! help thou me!"